


Anthology of D.C Imagines

by sippingonstardust



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics), Red Robin (Comics), Teen Titans - All Media Types, Young Justice - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Batboys x reader, F/F, F/M, Fluff, M/M, batboys imagines, bruce wayne imagines - Freeform, cassandra cain imagine, damian wayne imagines - Freeform, dc imagines, dcu imagines, dick grayson imagines - Freeform, jason todd imagines - Freeform, stephanie brown imagines, tim drake imagines - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-09-06 18:25:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 41,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16837969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sippingonstardust/pseuds/sippingonstardust
Summary: This is the fluff and angst filled collection of tumblr writer @prettylittlebrownskingyal's imagines, one-shots, drabbles and preferences.





	1. Written In Stone 🎆 {Dick Grayson x Reader}

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own any of the characters, storylines or settings mentioned in these works. All rights are reserved to D.C Comics.

Written In Stone ✨

Dick Grayson x Reader

You probably loved him then. When you were too young and it was all new and you still kept your heart hanging on your sleeve. The team had formed quickly, squabbled and bickered and adapted and loved each other like family. Some heroes had super strength and could fly or shape shift or run into battle and take down bad guys like it was their god given right, you were given magic powers and good timing. So it worked. You fought alongside your friends, standing tall next to him all the way through.

Of course, if you stick a bunch of teenagers together at some point pheromones would get in the way of things. And like it was written in stone, you’d found your way to him the first time. Too inexperienced to deal with emotions so much bigger than both of you; you kept saying it wasn’t love and he kept loving you.

It was easier that way. He could focus on fighting the demons in Gotham and the baddies that were pawned off to your haphazard team and you could focus on growing, getting stronger; turning that good sense of timing into a warrior’s muscle memory.

But when your dad disappeared, you did too. You were practically all adults by then. You were too buried with loss to deal with anything. Too confused to pretend to be strong and he was oh so willing to think about anything but Bruce. Painted across the galaxies and sprinkled into supernovas; written in stone, you crawled back to him and he gave you everything that you needed and more. You tell him you don’t love him and he says he doesn’t love anyone.

When that ended, when he moved on to different things, deciding that the last thing he wanted to do was be another version of Bruce, or of Batman; you let him go. You still say you don’t love him because if you tell him the truth he’ll never leave you, and he says okay. You tell him to do what he has too. And you know he will. You don’t need the crutch of his embrace to help you through the day anymore; you haven’t for a while. He leaves for Detroit and you move away, finally feeling like you were whole.

You continue your father’s legacy. You get your own place in DC to stay close to Hank and Dawn, live lavishly when you want to and eat ramen noodles for dinner when you feel like it. You spend hours in homeware stores with Dawn and scream at NBA games from the couch with Hank. When she isn’t busy, you talk for hours on the phone with Donna.

Days are bright and sunny and Dick is no longer the reason that. In fact, he’s an afterthought. He’s a boy tucked into a memory box with all the other people that you’ve kissed; a sugary piece of nostalgia that you don’t ever really take out anymore.

Until he’s standing in your doorway, looking older and tired and a little scared; and every distinct cinnamon coated, tear stained memory of words and skin and laughter comes back to you in a single, fleeting rush. It disappears when you finally tear your eyes away from his face; his hair is longer and he still does that quirky thing with his mouth when he’s worried, and you have so many memories of kissing it away.

You’re not entirely surprised to see him after the whole ordeal with Dove, word had gotten around. He has company; a tall, gorgeous woman who’s all smooth, dark skin and magenta hair and eyes so green and intense that you fall a little in love with her as she glares in your doorway. Peering out from behind her is, a tiny girl with pale skin and blue hair.

“Detective Grayson, how can I help you?” His eyes harden a little at the edges and the familiar pleasure of messing with him warms you.

“Can we come in?

You let them in, hyperaware that you’re still in your pajamas at two in the afternoon on a Saturday. But they don’t seem to care. You can feel Dick’s eyes on you the whole time. You can’t tell if you hate it or not.

“So, who are you lovely ladies?” you say, leading them into your sitting room.

“ _This_ ,” he points to the girl with the blue hair, “is Rachel Roth.”

Rachel smiles at you, timidly and gives a small wave. She’s tiptoeing, you notice. She’s as nervous as he is.

“And thi-”

“I can speak for myself Dick. You can call me Kory,” she says, offering you a hand. You shake it, returning her firm grip. You decide you like her almost immediately.

“I’m not sure there’s much I can do exactly. I can’t unblock your memories. It’s like your mind is blocking me out.” You gently swipe your thumbs across her temples as you step away. “Are you sure there’s nothing else you can tell me that might help?”

She sighs. “Nothing that I haven’t before.”

“OK. Here’s what we’re gonna do,” you can’t place the look on her face, it’s somewhere between intrigue and admiration and hope for the latter. “You guys can stay here as long as you need but I can’t help you anymore with magic. But, I will start asking questions in the community, see if any other magic users can recommend anything.”

“Thank you,” she nods.

“And Rachel, I’m really sorry that I can’t–”

“It’s ok. Really. Guess it’s just not the right time.” You can tell she’s putting on a brave face. It makes your heart ache tenderly for her. You could never imagine being where she was, but in a way, you had been.

“You’re both very powerful though. More powerful than any heroes I’ve ever met.” This makes her perk up a little and Dick gives a proud smile over her head. He’s barely said a word to you and somehow one look has managed to convey hours of conversation.

“I haven’t thanked you yet.” He finally says later as he watches you do the dishes.

“You don’t have to. What’s a favor among friends?”

 _Friends._ You say the word tentatively and it tastes funny on your tongue. You and him were never just friends. What you had was too close, too electric to ever be friendship.

“You didn’t seem surprised to see me,” he moves to stand next to you, taking a dishcloth from nearby and begins to dry dishes.

“I talked to Hank before. He’s been keeping me updated.”

“Oh.” He pauses for a moment, scrubbing at a cup with haste. “Are you…are you and him… _close_?”

The question is poised with a calm tone but it’s so far from subtle that you have to laugh. It’s a quiet burst of giggles that halts his actions.

“Well, we’re not close like you and Dawn,” he winces, even though you mean no harm by the words. “But we’re friends, yes.”

You’ve both been with other people, and he’s always been impulsive with romantic feelings. Even with the tension between him and Kory you could read something there. You hoped she would be good for him, you had a feeling she was just what he needed. You were far too old for jealousy, you had seen too much loss for it. Optimism seemed like a better reaction.

“I’m sorry,” he bites out after a while, eyes boring into the granite counter top.

“For what?” Is he sorry about leaving? About Dawn? About showing up unannounced and expecting you to help him no questions asked because he knew that you would, because he knows you like the back of his hand.

“For… _everything_.”

You don’t realize he’s in your space until you feel the heat radiating off him. It’s different. Strange. You remember him always running cold. Suddenly, the dishes are forgotten. The mysterious girl and the powerful amnesiac in the bedroom down the hall are not top priorities. Suddenly he’s kissing you.

It’s like a door opening. Like seeing the beach after not being there for a long time. Each kiss is like a flower bud blooming through winter sleet; a spark of hope, or goodness, or love.

You pull away, eyes wide as he cradles your face in his palms. Their still cold. His pupils are blown, all dark and alluring. His lips are pink and bitten and you want them on your skin but your brain keeps humming bad idea bad idea bad idea.

“I have to go take a shower.”

“Ok.”

“Dick, you should let me go.” His hands slide up and down your arms. He presses his forehead against yours and his breath fans across your lips.

“ _One last time_?”

And your resolve crumbles. You walk to the bathroom determinedly, not looking back at him. You know he’s following you. You know if you asked it of him, he’d follow you anywhere. You strip and step into the hot spray, heart hammering in your throat. Your blood is pounding through your veins so loudly that you can hear it.

He spends a few minutes staring at the outline of your body through the fogged glass doors, committing the image to memory. Sliding the doors open and stepping in behind you is as easy as stepping back into loving you.

He remembers everything so crystal clear; the length of your spine, the texture of your hair. You’ve changed your shampoo and it smells different now. He spends ample time with his nose pressed into your skull, holding on to the new scent.

When he kisses you, it knocks the air right out of your body. He kisses you like he fights. It’s dizzying and complicated and his tongue in your mouth has you scrambling for purchase against the slick tiles, grabbing onto his shoulders to prevent yourself from falling to the floor. He holds you like he’s scared you’re about to disappear, as though you’re an apparition, a picture of desire designed to taunt him. It’s all encompassing and somehow not enough. Everything you remember and still brand new.

He kisses you like he loves you and you kiss him back, your heart bleeding with same sentiment. You kiss him with all the love for him you’ve held inside. You pour it out onto his skin under a rush of hot water and swallow every single whisper of your name. You’re grateful. Grateful for the shower to hide your tears, grateful that this moment is the grand zenith of your not-love story, grateful that when he walks out the door, you won’t have to love him anymore.

He spends his time tracing every new scar and bump and bruise and you keep your eyes shut because you know if you even glance into his sky blue eyes, the color of heaven, you’d never let him out of your arms.

Your heart aches for him and the thought of this being it for you shatters it into pieces again. Over and over. A cyclical torturous thing of beauty that you have become so used to. You love him and hate him. You want to protect him and you want him to feel your pain. To hurt. But he’s already hurting. And just like the earth turns on it’s axis each day, like the universe is vast, like it was written in stone; he’s found his way back to you. When you say you love him, it’s whispered as an incantation. A protection spell, one that he doesn’t hear. You tell yourself you want it that way.


	2. The Easiest Thing ❄✨ {Jason Todd x Reader}

The Easiest Thing ❄✨

Jason Todd X Reader

The multi-coloured fairy lights draped around the Christmas tree flushed your skin in soft pinks, golds and warm reds. There was a line of glitter across one of your cheeks and a dusting of flour splayed on your forehead. You were asleep, eyes closed and mouth pursed in soft breaths. Jason’s chest hurt at the sight of you. He wanted to hold you there in his arms forever, to never let you go. His heart thrummed in his chest as you slept peacefully in his arms.

It had been a long, tedious day. But it had also been one full of tenderness and family that left him yearning to see his own. You’d warned him that morning, while you stood on the steps of your family’s porch, hair flaked with fallen snow and eyes bright in excitement; that your family had good intentions, but spending time with them could be draining. He’d brushed it off then, how hard could it be to engage in some mundane family bonding activities when he fought off criminals for a living?

The answer? Almost as hard. He hadn’t anticipated the love and attention that he would be showered in at all. Your parents and siblings, grandparents and cousins even, were all good people who loved you dearly. He could see the joy in their eyes when you stepped through the threshold, the way your mum lit up brighter than the Christmas tree and your dad pulled both of you in for a hug that warmed him more than the blaze in the fireplace could.

At first he couldn’t understand how you would ever think of such a loving family as a task to be handled but as the day wore on, he began to see it. There were little things that clearly chipped away at you. The fact that none of them knew who you really were was the pinnacle of it; not as a person, nor as a hero. Your brother babied you and your cousins teased you mercilessly. They did not see you as the intelligent, brilliant and badass person he knew, they saw you as a kid and they treated you as such.

It dawned on him that all the death and the pain you had seen wearing a mask was the cause of your affliction. You were torn up inside: you were not the child that they had nurtured so carefully under a watchful gaze anymore. You were battleworn and bruised and just a smidge broken.

He understood that, because at times he’d felt the same way. It was almost as if you thought you didn’t deserve their love, and that made his whole body hollow out in sorrow for you. Because he, like your family, was just trying to love you.

Initially, when you’d came bustling into his apartment, sopping wet from the November rains and talking faster than Wally when he was excited, Jason had been a little blindsided. But it was that adoration for you that he’d tucked away so deeply in his heart that formulated his decision.

_“I did a stupid thing.”_

_“Where are the bodies?” he’d said, his copy of The Iliad hung loosely in his fingers._

_“No, not that kind of stupid,” you huffed, tugging off your wet coat, “I was on the phone with my mom right? And she asked me who I was bringing home for Christmas Eve and I was gonna say Roy. But then–” You spun on your heel and sucked in a large breath, “I remembered that my parents already met Roy and they didn’t like him. So I started to panic and then she got all worried and there was this photo. Of us.” You turned back towards him, wobbling as you peeled of your socks. “It was on my coffee table. You know the one we took on my birthday last year? And I just blurted your name out.”_

_“Wait–”_

_“No, that’s not all. I started to panic again and I was hyperventilating so I didn’t hear what she was asking me and I…kinda, sorta…told her that you were my boyfriend.” You threw your wet socks onto the pile with your coat. You looked like you had bitten into something sour, your face scrunched up in regret. It was endearing, the way you could be so adorable without even trying. He longed to smooth away the wrinkle of worry that formed between your eyebrows._

_“What time do we have to be there?”_

_You startled, mouth hanging open as you processed his response. “You’re not mad?”_

_“Nah. You kidding? Free food and I get to see all your embarrassing baby photos? I’m in.”_

_“So you’re totally cool with pretending to be my boyfriend for a day?” The worry lines intensified, surprise mingled with anxiety in your body, dripping from your words like the rain that ran down his living room windows in rivulets._

_“Totally.”_

You had always managed to tug at his heart strings in a way that needled him to try and be better, just for you. There was a certain magic that had clung to you all day and seeing you surrounded by love and light made it easy for him to fall into the warmth of it. The rouse you’d been carrying out was so close to reality that he had allowed himself to pretend it was all real. You fell into an easy back and forth with him that mirrored the gentle rocking of a real relationship.

In the moments where he helped you stir together ingredients in large mixing bowls with your mother and your sister-in-law, surrounded by the smell of baking cookies and laughter that had been warmed by wine, he was just a boy who loved you. As he leaned over the bonnet of your father’s car with you tucked into his side, murmuring as you surveyed the engine, it felt real.

There was no pretense. When you turned to him with laughter shaking your whole body, cackling as he lost another game of hide and seek to your nieces, he could not bring himself to behave like it was all fake. It was like a vivid, lucid dream that he never wanted to wake up from.

Before you’d dozed off in his arms, your father had pressed a glass of bourbon into his hand and he was sure that he was about to get the inevitable “what are your intentions with my child talk”. He braced himself for it, the gall to profess his feelings for you resting right on his tongue. Instead, he’d gotten a few whispered words of concern for your well being, a plea for him to take care of you for as long as he could.

“I’ll always protect (Y/N). _Always._ ”

“No,” he’d said with dismissive shake of his head, “(Y/N) doesn’t need protection, just a reminder not to carry the weight of the world around all the time.”

He agreed and insisted that he would be there for you no matter what. Because he would be. Even if you hated him. You’d bustled out of the kitchen a little after that, looking worn down. Most of your family had gone home and the rush of Christmas eve preparations and mild celebration had calmed down like the embers of a dying fire. Jason could tell that your were frayed at the edges by it all, like a towel that had been used too many times.

You accepted the glass of bourbon from his hands without fuss and slid into his lap like it wasn’t something you’d never done before. Like you belonged there, pressed into him in a cushy armchair, trusting him enough to hold you. Being vulnerable enough to accept him into your family’s home, into your life. Maybe sometime in the future, into your heart.The thought sat like a weight in his chest, not heavy. Just enough pressure to flood him with awareness and excitement.

When you’d woken up with a jolt, somewhere close to eleven and whispered to him that you were ready to leave suddenly, the weight on his chest, the excitement, turned to ash. It disappeared and floated off in the wind, because he was no longer your boyfriend. When the clock hit midnight, the spell would be up, he’d go back to being Jason Todd: the Red Hood, your friend and ally. Nothing more.

He compartmentalized the sting of hurt quickly, because it was a pain he’d grown used too and allowed himself to melt a little into the warm goodbyes that your parents gave him. They hugged him like he wasn’t a boy they just met, but like he was family and somehow that made the sting burn in his chest, pain spreading tenfold.

Much of the same, you paused on the front porch once more, like you had done that morning and surveyed the whole structure with an intense gaze. You flicked your eyes back to him and repeated the process, scrutinizing him with flat features that left him worried. He opened his mouth to ask, and then before he could get a word out, you were in his arms with your hands clasped firmly around his neck.

“I’m sorry if today was too much,” you breathed. He could feel your heart thudding against him, even through the thick winter coats you both wore. “My whole family can be so clingy and I know your not used to it and I’m so sorry if you were uncomfortable. I’m sorry I even put you in this position in the first place.”

You lowered your gaze, your head tucked under his chin. It was flecked with snow again, this time the fall was quicker than it had been in the morning. “Look at me,” he tilted your head up so that he could stare into your eyes. “Pretending to be your boyfriend,” he shrugged, “It was the easiest thing I’ve ever had to do.”

The snow began to flutter down a bit faster then. It gleamed like bits of fallen stardust on the ground and he leaned in and kissed you surrounded by specks of frozen galaxies.


	3. I Like You Here ✨ { Jason Todd X Reader.}

I Like You Here ✨

Jason Todd X Reader.

You bite back a curse as Tim drops another stack of case files in front of you.

“I’m going to murder you. Violently. Publically. And in the most painful way Damian can teach me.”

“Sure,” he snorts. “Don’t forget Bruce wants these sorted by tomorrow.”

You drop your head into your arms with a cry of frustration. This is not what you expected when Bruce offered to train you. But you were too determined to quit. Ambition roared like a lioness in your abdomen and she was not about to let you free.

Still, you were just about at the end of your string for the day. You had been through so many case files that you kept getting stuck on the same sentences, over and over until all the words became a big monochromatic blur of alphabet soup.

The headache gnawing at your nerves didn’t help either. You head throbbed furiously and you wanted nothing more than to melt into the ergonomic chair and fall asleep.

You give yourself a moment to rest, shutting your eyes and tucking your feet up under you. The clicking, whirring and general hum of the cave drums a steady, constant rhythm that soothes the sleep over you easily.

The darkness behind your eyelids begins to slowly morph in to the bright, bubbling flashes of a dream when your phone begins to buzz so violently it almost falls off the desk.

Groggily, you swipe across the screen, pressing it your ear without checking the caller i.d.

“Hello?” your voice is rough with sleep, you wince as you hear it, immediately clearing your throat with a soft _‘ahem’_.

“Did I wake you baby?” his voice is low and gravelly through the line, words slow, running like molasses over your skin but you recognize him. You would know him just by the sound of his breathing, his laugh, the feel of his skin.

“Jason?”

“Yeah, little bird? I’ve been looking for ya.” he sounds off. Too light. Too loose.

“You ok? I’m at the cave.”

“Fuckin’ figures. I wanna see you so bad,” he hums, the grovel of his voice right against your ear has you sucking in deep, steady breaths. You scan your surroundings, making sure Tim isn’t around to see you flustered. “I’ve been thinkin’ bout you all day little bird.”

Jason is a flirt. Always whispering words that get under your skin, just for the thrill. He’d made it his mission to leave you a flustered mess at the end of each of your encounters. But he’s never been this forward, never this open with his intentions. It clicks then, why he’s being uninhibited and impetuous.

“You’re drunk Jay.”

He hums again, “I’m _wasted_ , yeah.”

“Where are you?” Worry drapes your words like fairy lights, bright and bold.

“I just wanna see you…I… _please_ ,” he trails of with a shaky breath.

“Tell me where you are. I’ll come to you. Tell me where you are and you’ll see me. I’ll be there.”

He chuckles, breath filtering through the phone in pants. “So good for me baby,” heat licks up and down your spine. Shit. Don’t forget he’s drunk. He doesn’t mean it.

“I bet you’d be so good. You know how I know?”

You screw your eyes shut, pressing your forehead against the cool concrete of the nearest wall.

“Jason. Please. Just tell me where you are.”

“Where I always want to fucking be. At your place.” Relief washes over you, welcome like the rains after a drought. Your feet slaps loudly against the slick pavement as you race to your car.

“Stay on with me ok,” you need to make sure he doesn’t run. You need to give him a reason to listen. “Stay with me. I’m scared. I want hear your voice.”

He goes quiet. For a nasty second you wonder if that was all it’d take to put him off. And then he says, sounding winded and rushed, “Anything you want little bird.”

He sighs. “I’ll do anything you want. Cause I love you, you know? _I love you_.”

You almost crash into a tree. You have to swerve to the left haphazardly to avoid driving straight into it. You can hear the blood pounding in your ears, your heart threatens to explode in your chest. You’re frantic and frozen; heated and cold all at once. But he’s drunk, you think, everyone says I love you when their drunk.

You chalk it up to the alcohol. Forcing yourself to focus on actually getting to him. You steer him into small talk, and he goes willing. You keep a steady stream of commentary up as you speed through Gotham’s streets, silently praying that you don’t get pulled over for speeding.

You talk about the mundanities of your day; the sandwich you had for lunch, the bruise you got from falling on your ass when you were training with Damian, about Steph drawing dicks on Tim’s face when he fell asleep. He listens intently, with a content “oh yeah?” and smatterings of laughter here and there.

It blisses you out, talking to him on the phone. It’s a domestic act that you crave in your core, especially with him. Listening to his voice, albeit tinny and slow, takes the edge of the fact that you know he’s drunk, probably injured and somewhere in your apartment building doing God knows what.

The elevator dings to a stop on your floor and you spot him: back pressed against your door, long legs sprawled out in front of him. He’s in uniform, the leather jacket and combat boots and domino mask. His red helmet and bat emblem shine crimson and dangerous under the fluorescents.

Mrs. Mavis, three doors down opens her door to stare at you pointedly, lets out a loud, disapproving _‘humph’_ and slams the door shut.

He’s just about to fall asleep, breathing steady, head tipped back with his dark hair smashed against the mahogany door. You stare at his pale neck for longer than you should and scold yourself as you fumble with the keys.

“Jay, wake up,” your hands skirt over his abdomen searching for any injuries but being careful not to trigger the electric panels. “You have to get up bud. I can’t carry you.”

“You’re here little bird.”

“Of course. Can you walk? Are you bleeding anywhere Jay? Hurt?” he takes your hand into his. Pulling it up slowly to his chest, under his jacket, undoing the catches of the armour and then into his shirt. He splays your fingers across his heart.

“ _Here_ ,” he whispers, “Here hurts when you look at me like that.”

It’s like he wants to kill you. “You’re drunk. Get up.”

He holds onto you, leaning his weight on your shoulders as you both stumble through the door. He’s almost twice your bodyweight, tall and muscular; he’s really damn heavy. You get as far as the couch, deciding that it’s sufficient.

He lets you tug his shoes off. When you reach for his mask, he grabs both of your wrists.

“Baby, I don’t want you to know who I really am yet,” he hisses into your hands. His breath is hot and moist on your skin. It’s probably the closest you’ll ever come to kissing him.

“Sure ok. _Jason Peter Todd Mr. Red Hood sir_.”

You slip it off, sliding your hands down, pulling on the lapels of his jacket. He tugs on your wrists again, this time with more force, tugging you bodily into his lap before folding his arms behind his head.

“Jason,” you clip, your voice laced with warning.

“I like you there.”

“And let me guess, you want a lap dance?”

“ _I’d die for one_. Well, die again.” His voice is honeyed sweet and sticky.

You groan indignantly, crawling away from him. You know he’s playing; he won’t ever do anything you won’t consent to. He’s very particular about that whether drunk or sober. But the fear that festers in your bloodstream, icing out your haemoglobin comes from the fact that you liked it. The tactile contact and the nicknames, the sweet lilt of his voice as his mouth forms your name when you walk away from him.

You step away from the couch, desperate to find your pyjamas and fall into bed. His voice calls, barely above a whisper.

“Stay with me please.” His eyes are rings of stormy ocean blue, dotted by inky black pupils. Their glazed over. His whole body is pulled taut, tension heavy from his neck down.

You turn on your heel and march back to him, pushing an armchair flush against the sofa and flinging yourself across it. Your toes brush against his calves and he deflates, goes limp and quiet, slowly descending into the arms of slumber.

“So how did I end up here?” his voice still gruff and bitter with sleep as he props himself down at the breakfast bar, nodding in thanks as you set a plate of waffles in front of him. You were a vision in the sunlight. You’re dusted in a spray of yellow warmth, eyes bright and shining. Your mouth curves into a small smile, one that’s directed just at him. His chest clenches up tightly at the sight. He wants this, the image of you in the morning branded in his brain.

“You don’t remember?” your voice airy, the smile falters just a smidge. Something sours in his mouth.

“No,” he admits, wishing he hadn’t. “I remember some.” He remembers flirting with you. A lot. He remembers the lap dance thing. God, he’s a creep. But certain things blur in his memory. “But not…all,” he concludes.

You nod decisively, shovelling a bite of eggs in your mouth. “You called me. You were drunk and I came to make sure you were ok.” You aim for assertive and confident, but your voice warbles at the end, giving you away. “You were already here. I just let you in.”

“And that was it?”

“Well…”

“I don’t like not knowing,” he sniffs, “So please tell me everything.”

“You told me you loved me when you called, it’s how I knew you were really drunk.” You spit the words out rapidly, hastily turning away from him to pour yourself another cup of coffee.

“I— _what_?”

“Don’t make me say it again.” You fume, spoon clacking against your mug as you stir extra sugar into your coffee.

“Fuck me.” He croaks, fork clattering on the counter as it falls. “Jesus—I’m sorry. I didn’t…I don’t—I’m so sorry.”

“Jay, it’s ok. I know it was just the alcohol. We can pretend it didn’t happen.”

“I was going to be romantic about it. I mean I wanted to say it differently. I was—”.

“You were what?” now, you’re the one dropping utensils in shock, mouth hanging open as you lean across the counter towards him.

“I do. I do love you.” He flusters, taking deep breaths. “I wanted to say it for a while now.” His blue eyes glitter like the ocean in midday sunlight; honest and vulnerable.

“You love me?” awe paints your voice soft, the yellow cradling you skin fades a little and his heart sinks.

“I know. It’s a lot. But its better you know. You don’t have to say it back.”

Your hand creeps across the marble counter, fingers gingerly brushing his. “I love you too.”

His breath catches in his throat, he swallows thickly. “Well, we’re both dumbasses I guess.”

“Yeah. I guess we are.”

A smile hooks the corner of his mouth, tugging his pink lips up into a pretty glint of white teeth. “Can I kiss you?”

“ _I’d die for one_ ,” quote back at him. His nose scrunches adorably, cheeks flushing peachy pink.

You swing yourself up on the counter, too lazy to go around. He pushes your dishes to the side, arms finding your waist. He sighs dreamily as you press your forehead against his.

“I think about this a lot,” he whispers, his breath smells like maple syrup and coffee and cigarettes and you want to taste him so badly it aches.

“I hope I live up to the hype,” you say, caressing the sharp line of his cheekbone. He leans in slowly, pedantic and glacial, making you chase it. He smiles when you lean in too, brushes his lips against yours, softly like the touch of a feather.

You grapple at his collar and he tugs you into his lap with one swift motion, trapping you between his body and the counter. “I told you that I like you here.”

He kisses you, as soon as you open your mouth to complain, his lips are on your; hot and sweet and welcome.

“Maybe I should drunk dial you more often.”

“Sure. Do it again. I’ll call Bruce to come get you if your try it.”


	4. We Should Do Couples Costumes✨ {Jason Todd x Reader}

“Jay”

“I’m awake”

_“Jay”_

“My eyes are _opeeen_ ,” he slurs, eyes screwed shut.

“No their not. I can see you.”

“No you can’t.” He tugs on the soft blanket that’s draped around him, raising it over his head, blocking his face and leaving his legs exposed.

You take advantage of his bare feet and graze your nails lightly against his heel. When he yelps, something he would never do if he wasn’t so hopped up on pain medication, you sneer victoriously. The panic that had threatened to drown you moments earlier subsided, slowly ebbing into relief. When he’d called, gasping in pain and sounding so broken, you rolled out of bed so fast, you were sure you got whiplash. Now, standing in front of him, where he’s tangible and whole and warm and joking, you feel as though you could weep with unbridled joy.

“You have a concussion Jason. You can’t go to sleep yet.” Dick sounds exasperated. Who wouldn’t be after they had to pull their brother’s almost unconscious body out of a mob brawl? Aware of Nightwing’s appraising gaze you take a step backwards. He’d already pulled you aside to ask why did Jason insist on calling you first, you had simply shook your head and offered, “He knows I won’t hover.”

Dick took that in stride but the last thing Jason needed was for Dick to be needling him about your relationship. If you could even define what you and Jason were doing as a relationship.

What you had was a routine. A set sequence of exposure to each other that consisted of him sneaking into your window. Crawling into your bed in the middle of the night; either with a litany of bruises and open wounds for you to mend or to press you into the mattress until his name was the only thing you could think of. Sometimes if you weren’t asleep yet, he’d bring over cheap take out and lay next to you while you binged something on Netflix, making smart ass comments in your ear.

But you never talked about what you were doing. Did you both give very enthusiastic consent each time it happened? Yes. Did you love him? Yes. And you wanted to love him; to make him feel special and safe and wanted. But you’d never told him that; of course you wanted to define the relationship, but a slippery, sickening voice slithered in the back of your brain and whispered that commitment would send Jason running for the hills.

“But I’m so tired. Soooo tired Dickie,” his blanket lowers to reveal his sulking face and eyes that are as blue as the Corsican ocean.

“Do you want to fall into a coma, Little Wing?” Dick huffs, hands on his hips and finger pointed at Jason in warning, “Behave or I’ll call Bruce down here to stay with you.”

“I’m up.” The pain medication must be super strong if he’s not coherent enough to rip Dick a new one for calling him, “Little Wing.”

“Good. I gotta go. You good to stay with him right?,” Dick places a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“Yeah we’re good.” He leaves with a knowing smile and the minute he’s out the door, Jason’s eyes fall shut once more.

“Hey, if you stay awake, I’ll let you pick out my costume for that Halloween party tomorrow.”

“Can I choose _anything_ I want and you’ll wear it, no matter what?” his eyes glint mischievously under the florescent lights of the Batcave’s infirmary.

“No. If I say yes then it’ll be something like lingerie or a potato sack.”

“No,” he says grinning, “I was thinking more along the lines of sexy Big Bird.”

“Why do I put up with you?”

He doesn’t answer but instead beckons you forward. You gently ease your way onto the bed next to him, being careful not to jostle his cracked ribs.

He listens attentively as you list your options, delegating his opinions with little _‘Hms’_ and _‘Nahs’_. After a huff of indignation, you toss your phone aside, too annoyed to search through another website.

Jason, studying you with hooded eyes and an open mouth, slides a warm, calloused hand up your shirt to soothe the bottom of your spine.

“We should do a couples costume,” he mummers.

“We’re not a couple though.”

It’s out of your mouth before you register it. You want to slap yourself as his eyes fly open, looking slightly alarmed. Oh how you wish you could take it back. You wanted him to broach the topic first. To declare whether or not he wanted you before you dove straight into loving him. This just makes it look like you’re the one who isn’t interested.

“We’re not?,” he sounds vulnerable as he says it and your heart breaks as you scramble to find an answer. His hand stills on your back and you feel so cold as it loses contact with your body.

“We never really talked about it Jay. I always thought you didn’t want to be tied down so I never asked. I just assumed.”

_“Oh.”_

He moves abruptly, hissing in pain as he sits up.

“Jay what are you doing? You’re hurt.” But you let him take your face in his hands anyway, leaning into the contact like his touch is a monsoon and you’re dying of thirst in the desert.

“I’m alright. I know I’m a little high on the meds right now but Little Bird I…” he pauses, takes a long, deep breath and exhales through his nose. It tickles your skin and ruffles your hair gently as your stomach twists in anticipation.

“I want to be with you. I thought I’d made that clear. I’m sorry if I didn’t.”

“It’s ok.”

“No. It isn’t. But I’m not good at all this sappy shit. At all the feelings…it just gets so messy and screwed up with me. But I’ll get better, I promise because I love you. God, do I love you.”

“Yeah?”

“ _Fuck_ yeah.”

You don’t realize you’re crying until his thumbs swipe away the tears. The kiss you share is more a soft press of lips. It’s salty with your tears but it makes your heart sing loud, clear and triumphant.

“One important thing though.”

“Yes Jay?”

“Are you gonna be Ernie or Bert? I think Bert. Because you totally have the unibrow to pull it off.”

“I take it back. You’re insufferable.”


	5. Diner Dates ✨ {Tim Drake x Reader}

Diner Dates ✨

Description: You give Tim a little initiative to come and see you.

Warnings: None

Initially it’s the smell of coffee that draws you to the diner. You blame Tim for your newly found addiction to caffeine; you can’t tell if it’s because you really need it or because it reminds you of him. Still, one moment you were stood at the open window in your living room, feeling the cool night air on your skin. The next, you were pulling on your coat, picking up your laptop, phone and keys and bustling out the front door; enthralled by the glorious smell of French roast wafting through the night from the mom-and-pop diner down the street.

A rush of cool air had entered through the door with you. As you stood on the welcome mat, inhaling the scent of heaven and grease, a pretty dark-skinned girl introduced herself as Riley and invited you to sit anywhere you liked. By force of habit, you took a booth at the back near the window. _‘That’s a good vantage point,_ ’ Tim’s voice whispers at the back of your mind.

You settled in, ordered some coffee and forced yourself to finish the English assignment you had due at twelve the following day. It takes a few hours but after three cups of coffee and a lot of temple rubbing you get it done. With a last quick scan, you shut your laptop with a soft thump and stretch your aching arms above your head.

“I take it you’re done?” Riley asks as she fills your cup with some more coffee.

You nod enthusiastically and she gives you a dimpled smile. You strike up pleasant conversation with her now that your brain is no longer preoccupied and it turns out she’s a photography student at GSU and is only a little older than you.

“I like working the night shifts though,” she says leaning against your table, “A lot of the times Batman and his crew pass through here,” she gestures to the street, “So I’m always on the look out to take pictures of them. Something about the whole caped crusader thing makes them the best group of muses. Plus, you know, their totally badass.”

“ _Oh are you a Batman fan_?” you ask trying to sound as nonchalant as possible while your mind races through images of stolen moments with Tim in his Red Robin costume, Damian and Jason playing video games in your apartment after patrol and Alfred and Bruce, still in his Batman suit minus the cowl giving you hugs on your birthday. You have to bite down on your lip to keep yourself from smiling. Her response is interrupted by the almost violent vibration of your phone against the pristine table top.

“Hello?”

“Hey beautiful, where are you?” Tim sounds wired, even through the phone. You can’t tell if it’s because he’s had so little sleep that he’s delirious or it’s because he’s had twice as much coffee as you.

“I’m ok pretty bird. I’m at the din—,”

“Oh SHIT. Robin I need back up- _Ah. Ow_!”

“You ok?” you can’t help the panic that floods your voice. It makes Riley study you with a concerned expression.

“Yeah,” he pants, “Just took down a thug. Robin’s idea of helping was falling on top of me to do it. Hey, where did you say you were?”

“Diner down the block from my place,” you could hear the sounds of grunts and sirens in the background indicating that whatever fight he was in is coming to a close. “Stay on the phone with me a little. I miss your voice.”

“Sure thing– oh thanks Riley. You really know the way to my heart,” you say as you’re presented with a plate piled high with pancakes, eggs and bacon.

“Are you flirting with your waitress?”

You ignore his question and continue. “Honestly Riles, I kinda want to marry you now.”

“Shut up and eat your pancakes,” she says but her smile is wide. She turns and leaves you with a swish of her braids. You chew on a piece of bacon as you listen into the commotion going on at Tim’s end. You can hear him and Damian squabbling and Bruce’s gruff Batman voice giving an indignant response.

“Honestly, if you really want me to stop flirting with the waitress you better come get me soon so I can flirt with you.”

Tim groans again. “You’re insufferable.”

“ _Tick-Tock_.”

He hangs up with a huff and you beam a little dopily down at your phone. While you wait for him to show up, you dig in to your pancakes, order another cup of coffee and start a debate with Riley over who’s the best hero in the Justice League. You’re just about to end your tangent on why it’s obviously Wonder Woman when the door chimes open and she gives a strangled gasp. Tim’s standing there in his full Red Robin suit, looking elegant and powerful, and a tiny bit out of place.

“Hey Red,” you call. At the counter, Riley’s eyes are comically wide as she looks between you and Tim, her mouth hanging open. Tim seems oblivious to her and makes a beeline straight towards you before plopping himself down in the seat across from yours.

“Gimme some bacon please. I just ran all the way here.”

“Pretty bird I was joking when I said ‘ _come get me_ ’. Why didn’t you at least change first?” you hiss.

He waves a dismissive hand and continues scarfing down your food.

“Uh-here you go.” Riley stutters as she places down a cup of steaming coffee down on the table next to Tim.

“Oh thank you,” he says politely grabbing it up and taking a big gulp, “You’re an angel.” He looks pointedly at you with a smirk. You can tell he’s thinking _‘Checkmate.’_ You kick his shin under the table and he retaliates by trapping your leg between his. This somehow devolves into a game of footsie that makes you want to climb over into his lap to make him sit still.

You can’t though. You can’t kiss him or hold his hand or lean over at bite at the spot between his neck and his jaw that’s been cast in a shadow by the fluorescent pink and blue lights of the diner’s overhead menu. He catches you staring at him and by the quirk of his lips you can tell he’s thinking the exact same thing you are.

“You ok?” his voice pulls you back to reality and you give him a little nod, not trusting your voice to not be hoarse if you speak. He finishes all the pancakes in about ten minutes, yawns loudly and slips quietly out of the booth.

“Meet me outside,” he whispers into your ear, his warm breath fanning against your cheek before he turns, waves goodbye to Riley and swiftly exits, disappearing into the dark shadows of early morning.

You hurriedly pack your things into you’re in an attempt to rush after him.

“Did you just have a date with _the Red Robin_?” Riley squeals. You feel a little dumbfounded by the question; yes you did but she probably knows that because even though you haven’t touched Tim at all, you sure haven’t been subtly staring at each other.

“No no, he’s just an associate. I uh…I’m an amateur journalist and he’s my source.” You lie quickly and then high-tail it out of the diner to find Tim.

Just as your break the corner, out of sight from the diner’s windows, Tim drops down into the alley between two buildings. He wraps an arm around your waist and presses a soft kiss to your cheek.

“I didn’t know you pursuing a career in investigative journalism Y/N,” he teases.

“Shut up and kiss me please,” you saying crossing your arms behind his neck.

He does. He places a hand on your neck and keeps you steadily on your feet as you melt into his kiss. He tastes a little like coffee, like he usually does, and a lot like maple syrup. You lick into his mouth to get a stronger taste of him and he groans.

“Were you…” you pause between kisses, “Were you a little jealous?”

He ducks his head, pressing his forehead into your shoulder, his thick hair tickling your ear.

“No…maybe… _yes_.”

You rub your thumbs soothingly against his jaw and when he raises his head again you slot your mouth against his and kiss him breathless to let him know that he has nothing to be jealous about.


	6. Acts of Fodder ✨  {Damian Wayne X Female Reader}

Acts of Fodder ✨

Damian Wayne X Female Reader

Hating each other was an act of fodder that you both simply couldn’t let go off. Because hating him was easier than loving him. Hating him was better than trying to claw your way out of a hole of desperate adoration. So you hated him.

It had been on one of your first nights out on the streets of Gotham. Under the velvety moon, wearing the suit Selina had pressed into your arms like a prize. You’d felt invincible. As you leapt from building to building with quick, quiet feet you’d thought, this is what flying must feel like. You were free, untethered and powerful.

You’d been trained in every single method of defense Selina knew. Your ability to slink in and out of shadows will make you one of Gotham’s biggest threats kitten, Selina had said as she tucked a lock of hair behind your ear. She loved that you were as sharp as her claws and as dangerous as Harley and Ivy combined. All of the brains with none of the trauma. You were a force to be reckoned with. But so was he.

You were cradled in the shadow of a rafter, claws dug into the metal as you watched Catwoman take down four guards. You were on your toes, back arched and body prepared to jump when he’d snuck up behind you. It wasn’t that he scared you; it was that you were not expecting him.

His uniform was newer than yours, but his thirst for blood and romance with violence stemmed from something ancient. You wouldn’t know about his heritage until you were a few years older, but in that moment, you’d known he was dangerous.

“Stealing is a crime,” he’d hissed, his voice thin and reedy. He was a slip of a boy on the cusp of puberty after all.

“I’m not stealing. I’m _observing_.”

He was above you, bo staff ready to strike. If you weren’t careful, he’d send you careening of the building. You had leapt up, hands out for balance as you ran along the edge of the structure. He didn’t hesitate, simply moved after you without an afterthought. You jumped at his every swing, grabbing the end of the long staff and attempting to use it against him. In your struggle, it had fallen onto the roof with a clatter, rolled to a stop and he’d launched after it, yellow cape flouncing behind him.

Selina and Bruce, both still costumed, had found you a short while later. His gloved hands were wrapped around your throat, his back flat against the concrete and your knee was pressed against his neck. At that that time, when his face was inches from yours, you didn’t stop to worry about what colours his eyes were behind the whites of his mask, or if his lips were as soft as they were pink or if his hair was as lush as it was dark.

Now though, you knew his eyes were hazel. Honeyed gold and forest green with flecks of yellow sunshine that drove you wild. You hadn’t kissed him, only in your darkest of dreams, but you’d pulled on his hair enough times to know that yes, it was as lush as it looked.

You both matured with age. He’d grown from Damian Al Ghul, the assassin wrestling for his father’s approval to Damian Wayne, one of Gotham’s most beloved elites. You had blossomed well under Selina’s care; wholesome and wicked smart. You were feared as Catgirl and revered as the ward of Selina Kyle, a sight to see at galas, a girl that had a bark and bite that made her stand tall.

Catgirl and Robin had moved on from petty fist fights and rather adopted the art of cutting each other down verbally. When that had grown old, you started flirting with him. It was one of Selina’s tactics and while you were no seductress, it worked well enough. You still hated him, but it was fun to watch him fluster under your scrutiny and then be forced to turn away because there was nothing he could do about it.

Strange, how you found yourself wishing you could do something about it as he pressed you against a brick wall with a dull thump that rattled your bones. You felt like you were standing in an oven. Fiery hot all over. Being this close to Damian just fuelled your fire; you were burning away from the inside. Your thoughts swirled around wildly in your brain. Everything was feverish. Too hot and too much to bear. Everything, but him.

“You’re an _idiot_ ,” anger clung to him like perfume, it dripped from his voice like an unfixable, leaky tap. Condescending, constant and annoying.

“Hello to you too, Robin.” He smelled good this close. Something spicy lingered to his skin, mixed with sweat and spearmint gum.

“Are you aware of what just happened?” he struggled to keep you in place. You had wrapped your arms around his neck, stuck your leg between his, and pressed into him as he pushed his weight against you.

“I was about to take down Poison Ivy and _some idiot_ stopped me. Do you have any clue as to who he might be?” you seethed, your fingers grazing his jaw. It jumped under your touch as he swallowed thickly.

“No.” he fumed and pinned your wandering hands above your head. “ _You walked into Poison Ivy’s toxin._ ”

You hadn’t heard what he had said. Your eyes were trained on his mouth, the shape of his cupid’s bow was so prominent, doll like, angelic. The glint of perfect straight, white teeth when he talked was so distracting. You arched your back, attempting to twist your arms free from his grip. You were sweltering in your suit and you could feel the beads of sweat sliding down your back.

“As much as I like us like this Robin. I have too much clothes on. I’m _dying_ in this heat.”

He released your wrists, his nostrils flared as you slid them down the wall with a drawn out moan.

“Don’t–what are you doing? _Don’t take your clothes off_.”

You paused in the action of pulling down the zipper at the front of your suit and looked up at him through your eyelashes, batting them slowly the way Selina did. “But I’m so warm Robin,” you purred.

“You’re not thinking straight. You walked into Ivy’s toxin. This isn’t _you_ ,” he stepped back slightly, arms outstretched, braced to catch you if you ran. “I’m taking you home. Selina will come get you.”

“I’m fine. I don’t need Selina to come get me.”

“If i proposed that we had a sweaty, naked romp right here in this dank alleyway, what would you say?”

“ _Yes, please_.”

He rubbed at the bridge of his nose through the mask. “My point exactly. If you were clear-headed, you would have castrated me for even suggesting it to you.”

“I’m still staying.”

“I’ll carry you by force. _Don’t underestimate me_.”

“I’ve never underestimated you Robin.” You take a cautious step forward, poking at his chest. “Not since the moment we’d met.” You pushed again until he was the one being pressed into a wall. You recognized the heat that licked through your veins. It was want. Desire. And here he was in front of you like the universe’s greatest gift.

“I swear to god, if you weren’t so hot you’d be dead already.” His lips parted as he sucked in a long breath, his hands hovered at your sides.

“You’re not thinking straight.” He growled again. His voice was smoke and you were burning.

“You’re so annoying, just kiss me already. I know you want to Robin.” You’d leaned into him, standing on your toes to brush your lips against his. You didn’t care if anyone saw. Hell, you didn’t care if Bruce and Selina were watching. You‘d wanted to kiss him since that first night he found you hanging of the edge of a building. The girlhood crush had given away into a strong, intrinsic urge. It was a coil that twisted itself tightly in your stomach. You wanted to kiss him. You needed to. Your brain kept promising that you would feel less dizzy with his mouth on yours.

He inched forward, placed a steady hand at the back of your neck. Relief was on the horizon and you could almost taste it on his tongue. Your were being moved at a snail’s pace as the heat continued to scorch through your bloodstream. Closer, almost there–and then nothing.

The heat ebbed slowly from your body. It was replaced by a particular heaviness that came with being tranquilized. Your head felt like it was stuffed with wet cotton and your arms and legs throbbed with pins and needles. You blinked your eyes open cautiously, terrified of what might await you. It hurt; the industrial lights that were above you stung your corneas. A loud, wet gasp escaped from your throat unwillingly and suddenly the quiet of the room was filled with a plethora of concerned voices.

“She’s awake–you’re ok darling. _You’re safe. I have you_.” Selina. You reached out for her blindly but the hand that intertwined its fingers with yours did not belong to Selina. The fingers were long and knobbly. Battle worn and splayed out against your own, a pianist’s hands. Selina’s hands were small and dainty, scarred but comforting. You wanted her to comfort you. You wanted to go home. You tried to call for her, to cry out and bawl, but your voice wasn’t working. You felt utterly broken.

“The sedatives were strong. She’ll be feeling the effects for a few hours,” this voice was gruff, male definitely, but calm. Bruce.

“And what about Ivy’s toxin? We don’t know if the sedatives and the new antidote would have any side effects.”

A comforting thumb rubbed circles into the back of your hand, warm breath ghosted your knuckles, “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have sedated her. I just couldn’t-”

“It’s ok Damian. I’m sure she wouldn’t have wanted you to see her like that.” Damian was holding your hand? Something about that gesture peeved you, it burrowed into your mind like an itch you couldn’t scratch. You couldn’t quite remember what happened after he’d pulled you into that alleyway. The lurch of your stomach and the fact that your were semi-conscious in the bat cave’s infirmary told you it was nothing pleasant, expressly with Ivy’s toxins being involved.

Damian and Selina were talking again, rapid fire conversation was whispered above you but the edges of your consciousness began to unravel like strings and you were once again pulled under. The sleep was dreamless, empty and fitful. You had gone from feverish to freezing in a matter of hours. It was the cold that seeped consciousness back in. Little by little alertness returned to your body, autonomy to your limbs. The room became clearer with each flutter of your eyelids. Your mind remained blissfully blank for a whole minute; empty and worriless until anxiety and shame came crawling out from under the facade, furious and intent to kill.

Indeed, you wanted to curl right up and die as each memory of the previous night came back to you in stark images; Damian pulling you out of battle, pushing him against the wall in that alley, almost kissing him. Almost. He’d probably sedated you just before. The embarrassment was just as bad as the fever Ivy’s poison had given you.

You shuddered and a warm hand squeezed your own. “I’ll get you a blanket. Stay there.”

“Damian.” He jerked to a stop, arm poised against the metal door.

You didn’t know what you were going to say to him. Should you have apologized? Did you still hate each other?

“Selina will back in a minute. Don’t exert yourself.”

“I’m so sorry.” With these words, he turned to look at you. He had changed out of his costume at some point. The soft looking green sweater he wore made his eyes glint like kryptonite.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I basically violated you in an alleyway. I kept coming onto you and you hate me.” You huffed in exertion, “You still helped me. Even though i’ve been nothing but horrible to you.”

“Y/N…your advances were not unwelcome.” he cleared his throat sharply, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, “I do not hate you. I probably did when I first became Robin, but back then I hated everyone. I’m not exactly–er– I guess you’d say well-versed with my emotions. I haven’t hated you in a long time.” His words are softened, voice quiet and almost meek.

You were still vibrating in shock when he returned with a blanket. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from him, no matter how hard you tried.

“You were right,” he whispered as he tugged the wooly mass around your shoulders. “I did want to kiss you. _I still do_.” His hands were gently lingering on your shoulders. You’d never seen him look so out of place or uncertain about his actions. He was always sure of himself, confident and deliberate in all his actions.

“You don’t have to say that just because I ambushed you.”

“I want to kiss you. I always want to kiss you…if I hadn’t sedated you in that alley…we would have–I would have let you…”

Timidly, he leaned into you, brushed his nose against yours. There was no feverish need to get to skin against skin. Your mind was clear and buzzing in anticipation. You could hear the thrum of your own blood in your ears and when his lips finally, finally touched your own, the world went quiet. Years of animosity melted away in one sweet kiss. And then another said all the words he never said, all the words he’d wanted to say. The last kiss shared before you parted was marked by the clacking of teeth as you both grinned into it, giddy with affection. And so the fodder ended; folded into something complex that looked a lot like love.


	7. There for You ✨ (Acts of Fodder Sequel){Damian Wayne x Reader}

There For You ✨

Word Count: 2.5k

Part One: Acts of Fodder ✨

Twilight’s last gleaming embellished the Gotham skyline with orange and purple cotton candy clouds. The smell of sea, smoke and the pungent stench of Gotham itself flooded your nostrils. You shifted idiley from foot to foot on your perch behind a large stack of shipping containers, growing more impatient as you waited for Selina’s cue.

The mission had spent weeks in the pipeline. Jason had been investigating low level gangsters linked to the Black Mask and found that a major shipment deal was set to go down between a few of Black Mask’s lieutenants and a new addition to Gotham’s rogues’ gallery, a man who went by the name Fox.

Catwoman had been canavasing the case with him, pulling in Fox and his own lieutenant, Hound as supposed allies. She’d been keeping you at an arm’s length about all of it since you and Damian had sat her down and told her that you were together. He even asked for her permission to date you. It was all very proper and charming and she’d taken it exactly as you expected her too. With a lecture about how love was a weakness, a vulnerability and _what would happen if one of you were in a fight and couldn’t save the other. You’d both die_. She’d been cordial and distant since then. Only addressing you when necessary, cutting your patrols short and limiting your exposure to Fox and Hound. It tore you apart, just a little, the frigdiness with which she received you was not something you were used to and it made your insides ache with the cold.

You slid into a crouch as three non-descript black vehicles pulled up on the other side of the docks. You’re comm link hissed to life in your ear with a familiar fuzz of static, “Tell me exactly how you and Selina plan to take down all of these men.”

Even though you couldn’t see him, you could picture Damian’s steely expression in your mind, his clenched jaw and hazel eyes gone dark in anger.

“The same way we always do it.”

“This is a terrible idea and you know it. You should have just waited for back up.”

“We can’t keep putting this off.”

You sighed, tucking your feet under you as you eyed Selina, the leather of her costume was muted under the setting sun as she trailed behind two tall men in brown and grey trench coats, her whip twisted between her fingers. “Well I have eyes on Fox and Hound. They don’t look like much.”

“ _Don’t_ underestimate them. They worked their way to the top quite easily.”

You already knew that. Fox and Hound had become key players in a matter of months. They were not hesitant to kill whoever got in their way and they were loyal as hell to the Falcones. Unlike most of Gotham’s criminals, you had yet to figure out their schtick. Stephanie and Tim kept insisting they were secretly furries just because you’d laugh each time. Selina would glare to shut you all up. They always wore plain trench coats, usually with fedoras. From CCTV footage, you knew that they each carried four guns each; two at the waist and two at the belt. You hadn’t gotten a good look at their faces yet, but their postures told you they were confident and calm. If this deal didn’t go over smoothly, they would not hesitate to take out Black Mask’s men. You and Selina were treading on thin ice.

“I know, Robin.” No names over the comms, that was a stupid rule.

“Promise me you’ll be safe _ya amar_.” Ok, maybe it wasn’t that stupid. _My most beautiful, my moon_. Everytime Damian spoke arabic it flushed you with warmth. A summer heat attached to a language that was elegant and regal and danced fluidly on his tongue. It was a welcome distraction. One you needed desperately.

“I promise. Now stop bothering me, I’m trying to do my job.”

As darkness began to seep into the sky like black ink spilled across paper, you jumped from your perch and landed on your feet.

“Well, well, well. Look who’s finally made an appearance,” a croaky, soprano voice called from your left. A grey hat flicked off to reveal pale, sickly skin and sunken eyes. Hound. He had a round youthful face but something about him seemed wrong. Something like death clung to him, whether it was that he was unwell or if the strain of committing so many mass murders in such record time had finally took a toll on him you couldn’t tell.

“I’m just here to check up on the boss,” you said with a nod to Selina. Her eyes flicked over you once and she turned back to the other men. Still cold.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been able to meet you sooner because _wow_. I mean,” Hound continued snidely, “I know you’re a criminal, it’s gotta be illegal to look like _that_.”

 _“Tell him to fuck off,”_ Damian hummed. Of course he was listening in.

Hound gave you a longing, appreciative glance that made you take a step back from him. You hated that. Being objectified so plainly, so openly without shame or regard for you as a person. You brimmed with repugnance.You couldn’t piss him off, it was too risky. You had to bite the inside of your cheek bloody and stay calm. It was imperative.

By a nasty twist of fate, or perhaps the universe was as perpetually in love with Damian as you were, you did need the back up like he’d said. The deal soured as soon as Fox shook the opposing lieutenant’s hand. It wasn’t a shipment deal; it was a death trap and you and Selina were caught in the crossfire. Brilliant as it was, an extended olive branch from the Black Mask’s brood, that turned out to be deadly poison instead; the lieutenants had been ordered to strike a deal between the mobs, use it as a cover to take out the Fox and Hound before they could become bigger threats. _Disposing of Catwoman and Catgirl?_ Well, you and Selina were just an added prize.

They had the element of surprise in their court and they used it well. Hound and Fox were taken out simultaneously. It took six huge men to take down Selina and after receiving a blow to the head, you fell onto the cold, hard ground seeing stars. Everytime you passed out in this line of work, you always wondered if the darkness behind your eyelids was all that the afterlife had to offer, if there was no more than just nothingness on the other side. When you came too, it was with an indignant groan. Your arm was on fire in a way that told you it was broken, you could tell you ribs were at least cracked. You definitely had a concussion. They probably did that while you were unconscious. The world spun in and out of focus, the room wouldn’t stop moving. You realized with a sickening twist in your gut that your were strung up, hanging upside down from a rafter. _God, Damian was going to kill you._

Fox and Hound were nowhere to be seen. Dead, then. Their bodies were probably floating in the harbour. As you twisted again, the chains holding you creaking as metal rubbed against metal, Selina’s limp body came into view. She was chained to a chair below you, claws out and head lolling against her chest. There were men in black hoods milling about, probably about twenty from your count. _Was this it then? It would be a pitiful way to die._ You contemplated several escape routes; even if you could swing onto the rafters and wriggle out of the chains, there was no way for you to attack without using lethal force to take some of them out. Otherwise, they’d just overpower you. You hoped for a miracle. Prayed for mercy. Begged to see Damian’s face one last time.

 _“Ya Ibn el Sharmouta,”_ came a gruff swear from the warehouse entrance. There he was, Robin. _Your Boy Wonder._ Two katanas held were held in a defense position and his stance light, ready to jump into action. You struggled to stay awake, to ignore the blood rushing to your skull but with every jolt of your body, your ribs and arm ached. Your breath came in ragged pants, wet and sickening even to your own ears. You coughed, each contraction of your diaphragm left you in agony.

The taste of blood, salt and copper filled your mouth and you gagged. Not cracked ribs then, broken. Internal bleeding. There were way more than twenty men, Black Mask had wanted this job done right. You waited for Batman to arrive as you watched Damian take down the masked men in waves. You were right about the use of non-lethal force being an issue. There was no way he could dodge every shot, every blow to the skull. He kept fighting till he was worn out and there was nothing you could do to help him.

Selina’s voiced echoed in your throbbing skull, taunting you. _What would happen if one of you were in a fight and couldn’t save the other. You’d both die._ She was right. It would be your fault if he died. He only came because of you. You sobbed again, the sound of it ricocheting off the ceiling, drawing the attention of a few men below. You kicked furiously at the chains and your ribs screamed in protest. Your body couldn’t take it. All you could think was, just let me die, let me not have to watch him die and let me die first, let him live, let him live.

When he fell, legs buckling with a loud crunch, you screamed and gun shot rang out, the bullet just inches from your face. You couldn’t bear it any longer. You took one last long look at him, face determined, trying to land blows on wobbly legs. There was blood on his cheek, his temple, his mouth, staining the yellow cape crimson. His mask was ripped at the edge and there was long, jagged cut on his forearm. If he went down, it would be fighting. You closed your eyes and begged for death. Lured it in with bright memories of Damian; the first time he kissed you in the batcave’s infirmary. The first time he crawled into your bedroom window after patrol to hold you, the first time he told you loved you. Each memory was glossy and perfect and precious.

“I love you,” you grunted softly. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” You kept going until the pain ebbed.

Dying gave way to nothingness. No sound, no light, no movement. Death smelt like antiseptic though. You recognized the sharp burn of lysol and wondered solemnly if you were in hell.

“Mr. Wayne, would you please step out, I’m afraid visiting hours are over.”

“I’m not leaving,” you knew that voice. That was the voice that you woke up for every morning, the voice that sang you to sleep. Damian.

Was he dead too? Were you alive? Would he ever be able to kiss you again?

“We’re in a hospital beloved. You had to have surgery for the internal bleeding. But you’re alright,” he sounded broken, voice uneven. You wanted to reach out for him but couldn’t. This darkness wasn’t like the one you felt after sedatives, this darkness was persistent and cold. Not the finality of death, but close.

“Can you open your eyes for me?” It was a plea that tugged on your heart. Uneasiness rolled and trashed in your belly. It took a gargantuan effort to open your right eye, the bright white ceiling tiles of the room stung your dry corneas. When you blinked your left eye open, you hissed and Damian swooped into your line of sight. He was hunched over. There was a bandage at his temple and a bruise near his mouth. He was stunning and alive and you could cry at the sight of him.

“Selina?” You whispered, your voice was gravelly and your throat felt like you’d been swallowing glass.

“How do we always end up like this?” he asked, a bandaged arm coming up to brush the hair away from your face. “She’s fine. Bruce is with her. Their doing press, apparently we were all kidnapped and held for ransom in exchange for an exorbitant amount of money.”

“I think you should tell me you love me again.”

He smiled then, bright and beautiful. It was like the room was suddenly filled with sunlight. You couldn’t smell the antiseptic anymore, just him. The uneasiness in your stomach was tamed into something docile and meek.

“I love you, _ya amar_.”

It takes two days of whining loudly before you can be released from the hospital. Selina, shaken from what seemed like such an easy defeat, showers you with all the warm affection that she’d been holding back. You both spend a night crying into each other’s arms because that’s what near death experiences lead to.

_“I’m sorry kitten.”_

_“Stop saying that.”_

_“I was wrong. I was so wrong. I almost lost you again.”_

_“You’ll never lose me.”_

You’re carted off to Wayne manor with bandaged ribs, an arm in a sling and a bag of antibiotics that you’re instructed to finish. Everyone’s rattled but they don’t tiptoe around it. You figured, from years of experience, their used to hugging each other tightly and openly voicing their love and appreciation in the face of death. Alfred keeps a watchful gaze on you and Damian. You’re both out of commision; despite the treatment from his mother’s doctors, he still has to wait for it to heal, a fact that he very much despises.

“You may be genetically engineered,” you murmured into his shoulder, good arm grazing the top of his cast, “But you’re not bionic.”

“How are you so calm beloved?” he drew a hand down your spine, sliding his fingers up the back of your t shirt in search of skin. What he’s truly asking is ‘Why are you not restless with worry?’ Truthfully, you aren’t quite sure.

“Selina’s rattled Dami. She’s either going to lock me in a cage forever or hunt down Black Mask and kill him and anyone who stands in her way. I have to be calm” you huffed against him, _“I just have to be.”_

Whatever she decided, you would stand by her. That was something you’d promised her the second she made you Catgirl. You could only hope she wouldn’t tear you away from everything that you held dear. Everything that made you who you were. It was all dizzyingly overwhelming. You pushed the thoughts away, bored with the dalliances of the anxiety that they brought. You were content to keep Damian in a one armed embrace, to listen to sound of him breathing against your neck. No matter what the future brought you, no matter what happened next; he would be there for you.


	8. We Protect Each Other ✨  {Damian Wayne X Reader}

We Protect Each Other ✨

Damian Wayne X Reader

You were warm under the blankets Alfred had draped over you. Sleep hazed your vision as the combination of the crackling fire and the patter of raindrops against the window soothed you into repose.

Being tucked up into Damian’s bed was something you always imagined under different circumstances. Usually, ones that involved more movement and less clothing and bit-back curses but for an entirely different reason. You twist under the thick wool and swear as searing pain lances up your left leg.

You shifted your head to the right slightly and find him staring up at you. His sea-green eyes were awash with emotion as his chin lay flat against the mattress. The guilty frown that tainted his face made your stomach twist uncomfortably. You couldn’t help but feel responsible for putting it there and for the internal monologue you knew he was placating himself with.

You don’t shy away from his gaze. His intensity had become something you usually expected, but under the circumstances, the concern written all over his face needled you with annoyance.

 _“Stop looking at me like that,”_ you spit, your voice sounding rough even to your own ears.

“Like _what_?” he returned your tone with a sharp biting snap that made the anger flare up inside you.

“Like this was your fault. Me, nearly breaking my ass was my fault, because I’m clumsy. You’ve always known that.”

His glare softened. “It was my fault too. If I had just…I should have…” his voice trailed off. He slapped his palms flat against the sheets and pushed himself off the floor, stalking around the bed. He gently lowered himself next to you with a drawn out sigh. “If my reaction time had been better, I would have caught you.”

He sounded small and pathetic and the guilt that lived in your stomach began to crawl up your throat.

“Damian, you don’t know that.”

“It doesn’t matter, _TT._ I’m supposed to protect you,” he threw his hands up in the air, “And I hate seeing you like this.”

“Hey, we protect each other.”

“I still hate seeing you like this,” he repeats.

“Oh shut up would you?”

You moved to sit up and shift closer to him. His hand automatically went around you, gently moving you until you were comfortably reclined against him. Your back against his broad chest.

In such close proximity, the heat of the fire paled in comparison to the warmth of his body and your brain suddenly reminded you that you were indeed in his bed with lick of desire that danced up your spine. You quickly pushed the thought away.

You could feel him sighing forlornly into your hair; thoughts of guilt raced through his mind so loudly that you could almost hear them. Keen on providing a distraction, you tugged his palms into your own, his long, nimble fingers dwarfing yours.

Damian didn’t say a word. He compliantly sat still as you maneuvered his fingers, twining them into your own until his thumb brushed the side of your index finger.

 _“One,”_ you whispered with a gentle rap against his knuckles. “Two, three, four. I declare a thumb war.”

A startled huff of his amusement fluttered against your cheek.

“This is a lost cause. I’m better. I’ll win.”

You knew that, but you had successfully distracted him from his placating thoughts and that was a marvelous victory in your opinion.

After his win in the first game, he lets you defeat him in the second. As you turned your head towards him, a snarky comment bubbling in your mouth, his nose brushed ever so slightly against yours. The words died on your tongue as you both sat frozen, eyes glued to each others lips.

Thunder cracked outside, loud and raucous. You were only separated by a few centimeters. The flash of lightning that followed was not unexpected, it was almost as if it happened in the room with you as he leaned in ever so slightly, his mouth ghosting against yours. The rains picked up, heavy and pounding against the rafters. Finally, he sealed your lips together.

Kissing him felt like two difficult puzzle pieces fitting into place. A tug in your gut told you it was meant to happen. It was like finally living. Kissing him made the whole world feel alive alive alive.

As you pulled away with a last nip at his bottom lip, the corners of his mouth slid upwards.

“You really are quite clumsy. I’m not sure how I’m going to protect you from walking into your own demise.”


	9. I Need A Favor ✨  {Damian Wayne x Reader.}

I Need A Favor ✨

Damian Wayne x Reader.

Warnings: a male character that overlooks consent.

_“I need a favor.”_

You don’t know what exactly made you think it was a good idea to ask him. Maybe it was because he seemed to be the most suitable person to stump all of your mother’s prying questions, or maybe it was because you had known him long enough that he wouldn’t judge you for asking for this particular favor amongst friends. Or perhaps, and this seemed most likely, it was because asking him to fake date you was easier to do than confess your actual feelings to him.

“What is it?” he asks, book shutting with a snap. He always looked at you so intensely, it made you long to peer into his brain and see what he was thinking.

“You’re not going to be thrilled. Er…it’s kind of mundane.” You tried very hard to return his stare, to maintain level contact with his eyes but as a dark eyebrow went up in intrigue, you felt an immense desire to sit down, legs buckling a little. He was so effortlessly striking.

“If it doesn’t involve matters of life or death, I’m sure Grayson or Todd would be happy to assist you,” he says nonchalantly with a brief flicker of a grin, swinging his legs back up on the table and resuming his reading.

Just spit it out, you chastise yourself. How hard is it to just ask for a favor? It was Damian after all, he would never tease you about it. Besides, he was right. If he declined, Tim or Dick would be nice enough to help you out. In fact, you were sure even Jason wouldn’t mind, although that might just make your mother even more insistent on picking out your new boyfriend. You take a deep breath and his eyes flick up to you as you exhale, mouth quirking in amusement.

“My mom keeps setting me up, so i need you to pretend to be my boyfriend,” You say in one quick breath. Thankfully, Damian doesn’t laugh but he doesn’t look compliant either.

“And why me?”

You look down at the rug, moving a foot from left to right as though you were coaxing the earth to open up and swallow you whole. Why him? Because you had undeniable feelings for him that ran so deep that you were sure his name was written across your heart, imprinted in your bones and weaved into your soul.

Instead you say, “If it’s you, she won’t ask questions. She knows you’re a private person.” You unwittingly move around the table to sit next to him on the other side. His body heat radiates off him in waves and you feel a little light headed when he leans in towards you. He doesn’t say anything, just stares.

“Please Damian,” you start when the silence becomes too overwhelming. “Please, please pl–”

“Alright I’ll do it.”

“You will?”

“Yes. We’re friends are we not? I do not appreciate watching you suffer,” his smile is as warm and genuine as his words. Your stomach swoops and you feel a little dizzy but you manage to stutter out a thanks. “Plus, Talia has been doing the same to me.

November marked the beginning of the new financial year in Gotham city and as the chill of October bled into the frigid cold that meant autumn was as its peak; Gotham City’s elite prepared for the season where summer luncheons and October masquerades seamlessly shifted into dinner parties and extravagant galas under the glow of twinkling lights.

You and Damian had agreed on simple terms. At the next major gala of Gotham’s elite that Wayne Enterprises was set to host, you’d introduce him to your mother as your boyfriend; claim that it was a new relationship which would shut down her quest of finding you a life partner, and after that you’d both slink of to do whatever you wished.

Except, as most plans go, things went awry pretty much at the start at the evening. Damian had gotten caught up in a mission with Jason and had texted you several times to apologize but promise that he’d be there, he’d just be a little late, which didn’t seem that bad. Until you had arrived and your mother warned you to be on your best behavior before immediately ambushing you with three potential suitors all at once; a pretty blonde named Celeste who was fun to hang out with but quietly ran off to another party when her parents weren’t looking, Jeremy, who barely even glanced your way most of the night, instead spending most of his name stalking off to take heated phone calls and Chad, whose father was an accountant at Wayne Enterprises, and who was very clearly on steroids. He spent most of the evening regaling you of tales of his lacrosse victories and drinking a continuous stream of champagne.

You feigned interest valiantly. Across the room, your mother caught your eye and mouthed _“Smile. Act more interested.”_ You briefly contemplated jumping off the nearby balcony, deciding against it because it was very likely that one of the Bat-kids would swoop in to rescue you, the bastards. But as the evening wore on, Damian absence seemed to tear a hole in your heart. You couldn’t help but wonder if this was his way of backing out of the plan. Perhaps it made him too uncomfortable to fake that kind of interest in you? You didn’t blame him. But it still stung.

As Chad reminded you that he was the star player of his team for what seemed like the millionth time, you noticed that he was invading more and more of your personal space with each flute of champagne. Something akin to bile began to rise in your throat as his arm slipped from your shoulder to your lower back, dangerously close to your butt. You fought hard to maintain a neutral expression, but this close the scent of his cologne was suffocating you and you wanted nothing more than to snap his grabby arm and run away. You tried to formulate an excuse in your mind. If you played sick and left early, your mom would just wait until the next gala event to try again and if you out rightly told her to cut it out, she’d get all offended and you’d never hear the end of it.

You briefly succeed in shaking him with the excuse of needing to speak with your mother, whilst he went in search of more drinks. You expected her to at least hear you out but she barely even let you get a word out.

“Go dance with Chad. He seems to be treating you nicely enough.” _Yes mother but he’s also been trying to cop a feel all night and I’m not keen on giving him an opportunity,_ you thought bitterly. To add insult to injury Chad re-appeared with two glasses and an even stronger interest in getting you alone with him. He tugged on your arm, face set in what you assumed to be a pout but much rather looked as though he was constipated.

“Come on. I know you want to. Don’t you want to have some fun?” he slurred into your ear, his fingers digging too tightly into your waist. Bile began to rise in your throat again as you mother nodded approvingly at the sight of you. You couldn’t decide if you were about to be sick or if you were going to burst into tears.

“Come on!” he tried again, a little more forceful this time, “I know you want to.”

“No, I don’t.”

“You can’t be dressed like that and expect me to believe you.” He said arrogantly.

 _“Excuse me?”_ you could feel the angry tears threatening to burst like a flooded dam. Regardless of what happened next, even if you broke his nose, you were probably going to start crying. You felt so trapped and overwhelmed. Hurt enveloped you like a blanket; your perfect plan in ruins, your mother refusing to save you from the clutches of a creep and said creep becoming increasingly agitated by your rejection of his advances.

And just when you thought all was lost, when you thought your only option came down to violence, Damian appeared through the grand doors, looking like an angel of salvation in a suit. His dark hair was artfully tousled, one single strand falling across his forehead just so. His skin looked a little wan and he had dark circles under his eyes but he marched towards you with purpose, adjusting his blazer and fixing Chad with a dangerous leer. You didn’t miss the way his jaw ticked or his fists clenched. He played the part of the jealous boyfriend really well.

“Oh thank God, you made it,” you say, walking towards him, positively delighted to let him rescue you, “I was just _hmph-_ ”

And then he was kissing you; it was something fierce and primal and a little desperate on your part. His lips were warm and his pink mouth is just as soft as you had imagined it to be. Your hands slid into his hair as he licked into your mouth and when he’d kissed you thoroughly breathless, he pulled away from you slowly with his eyes closed as though the lack of air had made him a little intoxicated.

“Sorry I’m late beloved,” he says, smoothing his thumbs gently across your cheeks.

“It’s ok.” You stutter the words out softly as your head spins; you want him to kiss you again and then again and then forever.

“Who’s your friend?” he asks incredulously, head jerking in Chad’s direction

You bite back a satisfied smile at Chad’s obvious horror, forcing yourself to keep your words pleasant you say, “This is Chad, his dad’s an accountant for your dad, Dami.”

“ _Oh, really?_ And in all the years of your father having that position, did he never find the time to teach you about being a decent human being you irreverent leech? You were turned down multiple times and you kept trying to force her. I sure hope that you don’t usually behave like that and I sure hope your father can still be proud of you when he learns of your behaviour here this evening.” You’ve never heard Damian talk like that before. Usually his anger is biting and fierce, but his tone now is calm, only dangerously slow. You feel it necessary to keep a palm against his chest, tethering him to you.

“He’s right. I’d like an apology.”

He stutters out a sorry with wide eyes and a slack jaw and the turns away as fast he can. You make a mental note to ask Barbara to run a background check on him before turning back to Damian.

“How long have you been watching Damian?”

“Long enough .”

Still wrapped in his arms, you lean up on your toes to look directly into his eyes. They still sparkled brightly with amusement, hazel/green pools that were flecked with bits of honey-gold told you that his anger had subsided. You both let the moment linger unequivocally enthralled by each other. His nose brushes against yours and as your breaths mingle; his minty and yours smelling of champagne, he leans in to close the distance and capture you into another kiss.

“Is my mother looking?” you say against his chin once you’ve pulled away.

 _“Yes,”_ he says, his voice hoarse. It’s one word but it sounds so delicious that you shiver against him.

“Good. Thank you Damian, you’re the best fake boyfriend ever. I owe you one,” you whisper into his neck.

“Actually, I need to ask you for a favour,” he tilts your chin up, pinning you with his gaze, “Forgive me, but I lied before. I didn’t agree to this just because we’re friends, or because my mother is setting me up; TT she couldn’t care less. I agreed to this, because I could no longer conceal my feelings for you.”

He loosens his arms around you, taking your palms gently into his as you stare at him with confusion written all over your face.

“I said yes because I thought this would make it easier for me to ask. Would you…”

_“Yes.”_

“You don’t even know what I was about to say, beloved,” he smiles, brilliantly.

“I don’t care Dami. Just keep calling me that and keep kissing me.”

He complies.


	10. ❄🎄BATBOYS X READER CHRISTMAS/WINTER DRABBLES 🎄❄

❄🎄BATBOYS X READER CHRISTMAS/WINTER DRABBLES 🎄❄  
Note: I’m not gonna lie, I wrote these ages ago so it’s not as up to par with my current standard of writing. I know it's kind of early but I couldn’t resist.

Warnings: None 🥀

Dick:

“I have an early Christmas present for you,” you say in greeting as you stroll into Dick’s apartment. You shake the bag you’re holding in front of him until he takes it, an elegant eyebrow raised in question. Your grin widens as he peers into the bag and gingerly pulls out its contents.

 _“Oh,”_ he says with a sharp inhale. You can see him trying to hide the obvious fact that he hates it. Your face starts to hurt from smiling so much.

“Why don’t you try it on babe?” you suggest, as sweetly as you can muster.

He places the bag on the floor and dutifully pulls out the present. Flashing you a wry smile as he tugs on what is possibly the ugliest Christmas sweater in existence. Its Nightwing blue with a Christmas tree on it that’s decorated in actual tinsel, garland and small ornaments. Seeing him in it, you have to bite at your fist to keep from laughing out loud.

“I-I love it,” Dick stutters, trying for enthusiastic but he ends up sounding a little unhinged. He takes a look at himself in the nearby mirror once more, tries determinedly to look appreciative and fails.

“I’m sorry baby, I love you…but _this_ ,” he picks at a small bauble, “This is the most hideous Christmas sweater I’ve ever seen.”

It’s with this that you break, doubling over with laughter as your eyes stream.

“I know _right_ ,” you finally choke out. Oh, bless him for being such a good boyfriend. You reach for him and reward him with a kiss.

“This was mostly for me, I’ll admit. Your present is that I got a matching one for Damian, I’m going to give it to him later and ask him to wear it on Christmas day.”

This time, he flashes an actual grin.

“Oh you’re evil. You know he won’t say no to you.”

“Exactly! Can you _imagine_ the pictures?”

Jason:

A cold hand snakes its way up the back of your t-shirt pulling you from the inviting clutches of sleep and back to reality where Jason’s grinning face looms above you.

 _“You asshole,”_ you hiss as you hit him with a pillow, “I was just about to fall asleep.”

“Oh come on Little Bird, yesterday when I was napping on the couch you shoved snow down _my pants_ ,” he spits back, shifting away from you to rid himself of his uniform. You gaze at him longingly from where you lay, tangled in blankets and he flashes a knowing smile at you, a blush creeping down his neck as he grows warm under your scrutiny.

“Fine, we’re even. How was patrol?”

He crawls between your legs, laying his head against your chest and you instantly raise a hand to brush through his dark curls. He hums in appreciation.

“Quiet, no one really wants to be out in all that snow; it’s so cold that my dick nearly froze off though”

“Wouldn’t be such a major loss,” you whisper airily.

“That’s not what you were saying this morning.” He digs his fingers into your side, pressing his full weight against you, taking absolute delight in the way you squirm and struggle beneath him.

“Stop Jay!”

“ _Never_ , little bird.”

“If you don’t I won’t give you any of the Christmas cookies Alfred sent over.”

“Now who’s the asshole?”

Tim:

The grounds of Wayne manor are covered in a thick layer of fresh, lily white snow. Everything looks pristine; like something straight out of a fairytale. Wrapped in a blanket you wander over to where Tim stands near the window, a steaming mug of Alfred’s hot chocolate in his hands. You slowly wrap your hands around him, pressing your nose against the ridge of his spine, reveling in the softness of his sweater and its contrast to the solidness of his back muscles.

“Hi there,” he greets, his voice soft and comforting.

“Come snuggle with me by the fire, Pretty Bird.”

Tim flushes at the nickname, he always has. He knows he should be finishing up his files for Bruce but as he turns to look at you, he knows he’ll do whatever you ask of him. Placing the mug gently on the table, he takes your blanketed form into his arms and pulls you into a kiss, grinning when you sigh dreamily into it and nip at his bottom lip.

You draw out the kiss, sliding your hands into his dark hair and tugging slightly. You stay pressed together until you’re both gasping for air. When he pulls away, he presses his forehead against yours; eyes shut, mouth pink and a little swollen. You can feel his heart thudding under your palms and you flush with pleasure, shivering a little as it radiates through you. When he does open his eyes their more black than blue.

With a hoarse voice he says, “How about,” he brushes his nose against your jaw, “We go upstairs instead?” _case files be damned._

Damian:

“You hit me with that snowball Grayson and _I will not hesitate to end you_.” Damian clips as a shocked Dick lowers his hand guilty and lets the aforementioned snowball drop to the snow covered ground. Damian opens his mouth once more to speak when he’s interrupted by another snowball landing on his head with a wet smack.

Laughter bubbles in your throat as you catch sight of Jason high-tailing it back to the safety of the manor. Damian looks as though he’s swallowed a rather large lump of coal and you can’t help but giggle once more.

“Oh Dami,” you sigh, brushing the snow away from his face, “I think there’s actual steam coming out of your ears.”

“I’m glad you find _my idiot brothers_ amusing, beloved.”

You slide your hands into his jacket, wrapping them around his waist so you can pull yourself as close to him as possible. You rise up on your toes to brush your lips against his softly, like the gently flutter of a butterfly’s wings.

“If it’s consolation, you are very cute when you look like you’re about to commit a homicide. I hope that’s not the face Robin wears when he’s kicking ass.”

He responds by shaking his head at you, flicking cold melted snow in your face as you squeal and try to escape from his grip.


	11. BATBOYS X READER HALLOWEEN DRABBLES 🦇🌠

BATBOYS X READER HALLOWEEN DRABBLES 🦇🌠  
Description: { fluff} snippets of little halloween themed moments.

Warnings: None 🌹

Dick:

Halloween in Gotham is always extraordinary. It’s the one time of the year that all of its kookiness seems fitting. Vigilantes in leather, bat costumes and villains in masks don’t seem that out of place on mischief night when there so many people running around in poor imitations. As fascinating as that is, Halloween is also the one time of the year that draws out most of Batman’s rogues’ gallery.

In full gear, heart pounding from adrenaline, you and Dick swoop around the city streets trying to counter what seems to be an endless burst of criminal activity. So many people are convinced that Joker’s setting off a bomb in their building or Scarecrow’s about to hit them with fear gas.

Moving out of the city itself, you’re taken to one of Gotham’s more suburban areas to battle what ends up being just a rowdy house party. It’s a little after ten and you find yourself already tired by the night’s events. You step away from Dick where he’s lecturing some teens about underage drinking, leaning against a sturdy oak tree to catch your breath and survey the rest of the street.

You smile at the sight of all little kids trick or treating at nearby houses, their all so cute and tiny that it warms your heart.

 _“Nightwing,”_ you call as you catch sight of what is perhaps the most adorable thing you’ve ever seen.

Dick looks over at you and then turns in the direction that your pointing. There, trotting along on the pavement is group of little dark haired kids in various bat-centric costumes. The tallest is probably no more than eight, holds his head highly as he dawns a very accurate version of Dick’s nightwing suit, it even has the finger stripes. He’s followed by mini- Red Robin, Black Bat, Batman, a Red Hood (minus the hood) and a little baby that toddles along on chubby legs in Damian’s Robin suit.

Dick’s face melts into a smile at the sight and he immediately loses his gall for chewing out the teens and makes his way over too you.

“Look at the Babybats,” he whimpers, arms pulling you in to squeeze you in a tight embrace.

“You’re a dope.”

“ _Look_ at them!”

You do. You marvel at the sight; both of the kids and Dick. Of course you both don’t leave before the parents of the tiny bat squad ask you both for a picture. You can’t even tell who’s grinning harder, Dick or the mini-Nightwing in his arms.

Jason:

“Don’t open the door. Don’t OPEN the door. _Oh my god she opened the door!_ ”

Jason laughed at your blubbering; you lay in his lap, pressing your face into his stomach as you turned away from the gory massacre flashing across the flat screen.

 _“Let’s watch a horror movie Jay, it’ll be fun Jay,”_ he says, his voice sliding up a few octaves in a poor imitation of yours. You huff into his t shirt and he laughs again.

“Stop laughing at me. That shits scary.”

“Baby I’ve probably killed people in worse ways.” He gets all quiet when he says it, gently pulling his hands off you like he’s expecting to run and is giving you free reign to go.

“That’s different Jay,” your pull his hands back toward you, settling one on your ribcage and the other against your lips. You press gentle kisses into his skin, trying to soothe his uneasiness. “You know it is. Plus you aren’t demon possessed!”

“No, but Damian probably is and you hang around him just fine.”

“That’s mean Todd. Probably true but still mean.”

“How about we just watch something light hearted?” he asks, his hands gently trailing through your hair.

You peek up at him to make sure he’s serious and he smiles warmly at you. It’s a smile you love. One reserved just for you. It sends a rush of warm affection through your body.

“Hocus Pocus?” you suggest.

“Anything you want, little bird.”

Tim:

“That’s _disgusting_.”

You watch in horror as Tim dips his Snickers bar back into the tub of nutella before taking a bite. He chews merrily, unaffected by your revulsion.

“Wanna try?” he asks, licking chocolate off his lower lip.

“I’d rather be dead first. How is your mouth not riddled with cavities?”

“Regular checkups at the dentist and a vigorous flossing routine. Duh.” He offers you a sly smirk with his words, his eyes glinting crystal-blue under the moonlight streaming in from the near window.

You shuffle around him to take a bottle of water out of the fridge, dodging his attempt kiss you with a mouthful of chocolate and peanut.

“I’m not kissing you like that. Hey is that the last Kit-Kat?”

“No,” he says, cheeks bulging as specks of chocolate and wafer spray a little from his mouth. He’s such a dork sometimes. You punch him lightly in the arm and he retaliates by cornering against the countertop.

“I’m sorry beautiful, do you want me to go out a buy some more?”

“ _First of all_ , we didn’t buy these. You got them on patrol because people thought you were trick or treating,” he chuckles as you roll your eyes at him, “And secondly, where are you going to get Kit-Kats at two in the morning?”

“I don’t know. I’m just trying to be sweet because I really want you to kiss me.” He fixes his pink lips into a pretty pout and even though you just watched him ravenously demolish half his body weight in candy, the moment he presses his forehead to yours, you cave.

He hums into the kiss, fingers lightly caressing your cheeks as you lean into him. He grins as he pulls away.

“What?”

“See, I don’t taste that bad. Tell me you didn’t like it.”

Damian:

“Aren’t you a little too old to be trick or treating?”

The question came from a tiny girl donning a batgirl costume, she narrowed her eyes at Damian, scrutinizing his Robin suit critically with her arms crossed and foot tapping impatiently as she waited for him to answer.

_“Excuse me?”_

You snickered behind him, enthralled by tiny batgirl and her fearlessness. You could see where this was going.

“You don’t even look like the real Robin,” she clipped with a roll of her eyes.

“Hey! I _am_ the real Robin,” Damian replied, trying and failing to slip into his “I’m the Prince of Assassins” voice. Instead the hurt bled through clearly and tiny-batgirl scrunched her nose up at him, shaking her head full of curls.

“Sure dork.”

“Hey batgirl, have a candy bar. It’s a thank you for keeping normal citizens like us safe,” you extended a bowl towards her, watching her pick out a few Reese’s pieces. she saunters off with a sweet ‘thanks’ to you, and one final glare at Damian. He very maturely stuck his tongue out at her in response.

“What a _brat_.”

“Actually Dami, she kinda reminded me of you,” you take absolute delight in the glare he shoots your way.

“I’m thoroughly insulted beloved.” He crosses his arms, his stance looking eerily similar to that of tiny-batgirl. You can’t help but laugh as you say, “You’re right gorgeous, I have no idea what made me say that.”


	12. Spooktakularly Sappy Song-fics 🦇🌠  (Batfam x Reader Halloween Blurbs Part 2)

Spooktakularly Sappy Song-fics 🦇🌠  
(Batfam x Reader Halloween Blurbs Part 2)  
Description: another round of batfam halloween snippets.

Warnings: allusion to seduction (very small), otherwise none.

Dick:

Dick knew he was beguiled the minute you winked at him from across the room. That was it. That was all it took for his feet to hit the ground running, absolutely beguiled. He was struck. He was lulled. He was mesmerized. He needed to know who you were, what your favorite flower was, how you liked your eggs in the morning.

Now, as he stood at your front door, your name on his lips, roses in his hands and plans to make you scrambled eggs for breakfast; he couldn’t help but think, ‘Damn I’m whipped.’ And he was. Truly spellbound.

You open the door with a flourish and the sight of you is like a blow to the face that punches a breath of air out of him. And then you dazzle him with a smile and his whole body feels electrified. It’s a jinx he’s convinced; a hex, that has crawled underneath his flesh and made you his ultimate weakness.

“Oh babe, you got me flowers? You didn’t have to do that.” Yes he did, the ensorcelled voice within says. He had to; so that he could see the look of pure bliss on your face as you pressed the bouquet to your nose and took a long sniff; so that he could marvel at the little shiver of pleasure you give. So that everytime you looked over at your counter top during the next week and saw that arrangement, you’d think of him. It made something in the pit of his belly purr in satisfaction.

He wanted to fulfill all of your heart’s desires; to thrill you and satisfy you and protect you. He wanted to be the first thing you saw in the morning and the last thing at night. He wanted to hold you and kiss you and bite at your skin just to hear you whimper. He wanted. So when you kiss him in thanks for the flowers, humming a familiar tune softly against his lips something pings at the back of his mind. It’s not until he’s lying in bed the following morning listening to the sound of water hitting tiles as your voice echoes, _“I’ve put a spell on you,”_ that it clicks into recognition. And all he can think is, ‘yes, love you have.’

Jason:

Jason smiled contently as he observed you. Your cheeks were flushed and you were shivering in the cold but your eyes were bright and lively with a grin stretched across your face. You looked like summer sunshine in the chill of autumn and he knew he would cross oceans and burn down cities for that look of pure joy.

“What are you thinking about, little bird?” He pulled you closer to him and pressed his lips to your temple as you snuggled happily into his embrace.

“I really _love_ Halloween…” you take a moment to look around at the decorations and lights strung up all along the street and the trick or treaters plowing along with their parents behind them. The air smelled faintly of pop-corn and something sugary and you could hear the faint sounds of ‘the Monster Mash’ being played somewhere. He spun you abruptly to the uptick in the chorus and pulled you back into him. His lips shushing your laughter. You were in your element.

“I know. I figured that out when you turned our apartment into a satanic church.” You take advantage of being in his arms to pinch his side.

“Shut up. You love it,” his eyes crinkle at the corners as he presses your palms to his lips in apology, because yes but he loved you so much more.

“As I was saying before I was sordidly interrupted, I really love Halloween but I can’t wait to get up tomorrow and put up the Christmas tree.”

“Baby _no_.”

“In fact Jay, I think we should start stringing up lights in the apartment as soon as we go home. You know, to brighten up the whole satanic church thing.”

Tim:

“What…did…he just say?” Damian halts his nit picking through the candy that’s laid out before him on the coffee table to throw and incredulous glance at Tim, whose head is cradled in your lap as he naps. His arms akimbo and legs thrown haphazardly over the armrest of the sofa, he smacks his mouth a few times before snuggling closer to you.

“I’m not sure, I didn’t quite catch it.” Thrown by Damian’s concern, you stare intently at Tim as he snores softly in your arms. You brush a timid finger down the line of his regal nose. He still moves about when he sleeps, but it’s the only time when he doesn’t have to be giving one hundred percent of himself to the world. It’s the one time he’s vulnerable; and the fact that he lets you in on that makes your insides turn to mush.

It’s also the one time; you can stare directly at him and admire just how attractive your boyfriend is. Pretty Bird, you think fondly. You’re marveling at his high cheekbones and long, dark lashes when he mumbles again. This time, you do hear it.

“Hurdy Gurdy man.”

“That’s what he said before!”

“Timmy, you ok?” you gently cup his cheek, shaking him a little as you try to wake him.

“Came…singing…songs of love. _Hurdy Gurdy_ …” he trails off with a hum.

“Why does he keep doing that?”

“That’s the song from the Conjuring. We watched it last week. Maybe he’s just remembering?”

“Still it’s unsettling.” Damian looks thoroughly uncomfortable by the whole situation as he moves to leave the den.

“Wait, don’t leave me with him!” you call, craning your neck to watch the younger boy walk out the door. He returns a moment later with two phones in his hands; yours and his and a sinister look of unadulterated mischief donned on his young face.

_“Let’s film it.”_

“I thought you didn’t like it,” you say with a grin.

“It is a discomfort, yes. But that does not mean Drake looks nothing less than moronic when he does it. This will make excellent blackmail material. Send your copies to the Oracle, she’ll back them up.”

Damian:

“Sing me to sleep.” The words were murmured sleepily into his collarbones. You were warm against him; an expanse of skin was laid against skin. You had tucked your hands around his waist as he hugged you into his chest. The room was dark save for the occasional flashes of white light from the television where Night of the Living Dead played on mute. The light casted shadows under your lashes and your button nose, it somehow made your lips look extra pouty.

The moment was intimate and tender. A soft, gentle memory that he would tuck away in his mind and only take out in the moments when he felt like giving up, when he felt as though he could fight no longer.

“What shall I sing beloved?” you shifted slightly, exhaling through your nose and igniting a trail goose bumps on his skin.

“ _…anything…_ ” it was crooned so quietly that he wouldn’t have otherwise understood if he hadn’t seen your lips move.

He ponders for a moment on the list of Arabic lullabies his mother sang to him, and then swiftly decides against it. He didn’t want her tied to this moment. A selfish, little niggling of greed inside him wanted to keep this for himself. He soothes a hand down the length of your spine as he settles on something he’d heard Alfred listening too earlier.

_“Stars shining bright up above me…”_

And of course his voice is beautiful. It had been genetically modified after all. In your sleep dimmed, Damian-intoxicated state your forced yourself to retain a little coherency. You wanted to remember this, to get drunk on it on the nights you missed him; to cradle it in your heart. But alas, as he sweetly sings, “Dream a little Dream of Me,” you succumb to the enticing call of slumber, wishing wistfully that the moment would never end.


	13. ROUGH DAYS ✨  {BATBOYS X READER BLURBS}

ROUGH DAYS ✨

BATBOYS X READER BLURBS

Warnings: none 🥀

Note: this is unedited. I’m just not feeling great today and i needed some little form of comfort.

Dick

His love is all encompassing. When its bright and bold and loud you’re free to drown yourself in it. You can get drunk off him. But there are days, when bright and bold and loud are far too much for you.

There are days when you’d much prefer to sit alone and wallow in your sadness. To feel the weight of it on your chest and let it suffocate you. On those days, his smiles are softer, hands gentler. His love quiets to a soft hum.

A melody so comforting that it eases the sting, little by little. His words are a balm on your prickled skin. His voice warm as it whispers a string of ‘I love you. You’re so good. You’re ok baby. You’re gonna be ok.’

Jason

Jason hates to see you in pain. He wants to do anything to help it. To stop it. To take it all out of you. If he had to cut his chest open and fold you into his body to keep you safe he would.

Because Jason loves you with every fibre of his being. There is no part of him that you don’t know and there is no part of you that he doesn’t know and when days are hard and long and just exhausting; he knows he can look to you to make it alright.

When you need him to do the same he’s there. If that means letting you soak in it for a few hours, if that means watching you become a shell of human just to process, he can live with. Then he can be there to wrap strong, capable arms around you and say the words so loudly that they echo through his apartment; i’ve got you i’ve got you little bird i’ve got you. Because he would rather die again than have to watch you lose yourself in sorrow.

Tim

He knows there are days when things go so wrong that nothing becomes a surprise; days that are so dark and terrible that your only response is _this might as well happen._

He has those days all the time. But it needles him to see you like that, so hopeless, so gone. Your curl in on yourself and seal the world off and he’s always there with the softest hands and the sweetest kisses to soothe the ache.

And when the day twists itself into two or three, he’s right there being gentle and patient. Because he loves you. He’ll say it one thousand times over and over as he cradles you in his arms. He’ll say it until he loses his voice because you deserve as much.

Damian

Damian loves with precision. He knows you so well that the good days, are always great days. He knows you so well that the bad days, he can see from a mile away.

And he struggles a little because he cannot beat sadness. There are not enough weapons of mass destruction in the world. So he does the best he can, he cradles you close. Boxes you in and holds you tight.

He presses kisses into your skull and tells you everything he loves about you. He tells you about everything that makes life worth living for him. He talks until your body stop shaking with sobs and you fall asleep. He’ll be there when you arise to do it again if necessary. Because nothing will ever get in the way of him comforting you.


	14. ❄🎄Christmas Drabbles Part 2🎄❄

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back at it again with the Christmas Fluff 🤷🏽♀️

**Dick:**

“Baby, I thought we agreed no presents this year.”

Dick’s face splits into a cheshire-esque smile that graces you with his dimples. He looks  _ ridiculous _ in a garish Santa sweater and shimmering green reindeer ears. The box in his hand is twice the size of his head. It’s wrapped neatly in sparkly, crimson paper with crisp lines and a large silver bow that gives away Alfred’s delicate hand. He slides a hand under it and tucks it into his chest, with his other arm he tugs your chair away from your desk, spinning it around so that you’re facing him.

“It’s just something small.” He says sagely. “C’mon. You gotta open it now.”

You take it from him carefully, wiggling forward on your chair to balance it on your lap. The tape at the edges slides away with little prodding. You tear the paper back to reveal a smaller cardboard box. You sigh, raising a discontented eyebrow at Dick.

“Richard?”

“Keep going honey,” he snickers.

The box snips open to unveil...another box. Dick’s laughter grows from endearing to uproarious.

“If I open this, will there be another box inside?”

“Yes.”

He waits patiently, sitting with his legs crossed at your feet, whilst you open each parcel at a steady, leisurely pace. The final article is a plain, white box. You rip into it savagely, far too impatient to continue playing his game. 

“Dick. Oh my  _ god _ .”

“Don’t freak out.”

_ “Oh my god.” _

He pulls the chair towards him, places his cheek against your thigh and gives you another grin. Softer this time, a cute curve of his mouth that has you reaching for his hair. You thread your fingers into his dark curls and scratch gently at his skull.

“When did you get this?”

He purrs in contentment, reaching up to still your hand.“I called in a Wayne favor. I figured that the future Mx. Grayson deserved a nicer engagement ring.”

**Jason:**

“What the fresh hell,” you start, dropping to your knees in front of the thick, squat Christmas tree to nudge a gaudily wrapped box, “Is this?”

Jason pulls his hoodie above his head, tugging on the strings until only a circle of his eyebrows, nose and lips are visible. You squawk at the sight of him and his lips set into a frown.

“Were you raised under a rock? It’s a present,” he snipes.

“It looks like it’s been through a shredder,” you giggle again. “Who’s it for?”

Jason slinks himself down onto the floor next to you, stretching out on his stomach in front of the fire. He spares you a glare and hooks an arm around your leg to tug you across the dark, mahogany floor. You let yourself be maneuvered into a strong armed, passive aggressive cuddle.

“I’m not great at wrapping. Okay?” he whispers into your collar. 

“Does that mean it’s for me?”

He flushes under the orangey-amber glow, confirming your question. His cheeks go a pink-peach colour that makes you want to bite them just to see him squirm. The lick and split of the flames accompanies your soft laughter. You roll yourself into him further too press grateful kisses into his face, across his cheekbones and his forehead.

“You’re adorable. Even when you look like a human pinhead.”

**Tim:**

“Do you have to take pictures of everything Timmy?”

You drew yourself up onto your toes, leaning against the rough brick wall of a nearby building to ease the top of your head into Tim’s camera range. A gentle breeze was layered over the crisp bite of the Belgian cold and it splayed his curls around his head like an inky black halo. The refurbished buildings of the city square carried a hint of modern brick with its fifteenth century gothic facade. The choral version of ‘Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas’ pitched against the cobblestone streets and drew in a crowd of chattering tourists. Tim spared you an irate glance over his Canon EOS, his blue eyes were paled grey under the cloudy sky.

“When else are we going to find ourselves a free day to wander Bruges babe?”

He had a point. Bruce had been very generous when he awarded you all a day off from the retcon mission that had been taking the team across Europe. You were determined to spend it soaking in the quaint Christmas spirit of the town. Tim had been much more invested in sight-seeing and as much as you liked having a photographer boyfriend, it was a bit irritating to have to keep drawing his attention back to you.

“When else are we going to have a free  _ romantic _ day in Bruges?”

“Tell you what gorgeous...” He turned his head to look at you, angled his camera to take a few sly shots of your pouting face. “If you let me take a few of you now, afterwards we can spend the day however you like.”

A wide, warm smile blossomed across your face as you nodded in acceptance of his ultimatum. He took a plethora of images that were marked by the stuttering clicks of the shutter. There was no specific need for them other than capturing the memory but as the sun began to peek out from behind the clouds and the grayscale aesthetic of the sky dimmed; a story unfolded before him. Each captured moment; where you were caught mid-laugh, head thrusted back in the throes of amusement or even when you were stood caressed adoringly by the mellowed sunlight, screamed with his love for you.

**Damian:**

“If this is a small present in the Wayne Household,” your voice echoed through the empty observation dome, “I’d hate to see what a grand gesture is like.”

Damian’s long fingers remained clamped on your shoulders as he steered you through the dark halls. You could feel the heat of them through your coat, seeping into your skin and forcing a shiver out of you for reasons other than the frigid winds. 

“Would you attempt to not complain, beloved? It’s not as if I bought you the building.” He counters, “Although _if--”_

“No. I don’t want you to buy me the building.  _ Please _ don’t buy the building.”

He released a soft, uninhibited chuckle at your worry. The heels of his boots clacked against the black and white marble floors. The inner walls of the observatory were lined with sizeable showcases featuring gleaming pictures of star systems and planets.

Excitement had attached itself to your blood cells and charged them with pure lightning. You had a ginormous nerd-crush on all things space related. Damian had primed your hobby with opportunistic trips to NASA space camps and museums, just to see your eyes go glassy with wonder. Meeting aliens like Superman and Starfire had only fueled your fire and he blatantly loved watching you trip over yourself in nerve filled happiness. 

A spiral staircase led you to the topmost floor of the building where a large open space of balcony and a large telescope sat waiting for you. Milky, white sequins of stars dotted the dark cloth of the night sky. Warped shapes connected into constellations that you could name by heart. Damian’s smoky voice began to curl around their titles.

“ Rigel to Betelgeuse over there,” he wrapped a hand around your waist, slotting you into his chest and placing his chin on your head, “They give way to Gemini.”

“Castor and Pollux are right there then,” you breathed back. 

“I know it seems like much but...” he trailed. 

“But?”

“I’d never really celebrated Christmas until I started living with my father. From what I gathered, presents are supposed to be meaningful. I figured this would be something you’d hold dear.”

It was perhaps the most breathtaking thing you’d ever seen. The silvery light of the moon that hugged the snow caressed tree line combined with the atramentous curtain of sky, flooded you with an astute hollowness of welcomed wonder.

“This is amazing Dami. I’ll never forget it. Thank you.”

“Merry Christmas, beloved.”

  
  



	15. Four Drinks I'm Wasted 🌠 (Cassandra Cain x Reader)

Loving Cassandra Cain was like swimming into the depths of the ocean. It was calm. Each memory is silent and simperingly comforting. Time stood still for her, the world fell at her feet and the gods bent at her will.

Each big wave was rode with confidence, each kiss of foam to the sandy shore was the gentle lap of her love. Steadying. Real. Whole. So much bigger than anything you’d ever experienced.

Then when the winds picked up, when the sea began to churn all around, you welcomed it with open arms. You wanted to drown. You wanted it to be her. You couldn’t stop yourself as the water began to seep in.

If she was going to take you to hell you would follow her, willingly. You wanted to suffocate in her destruction. You wanted to leap into the the abyss for her.

Memories mock you. They snipe and snide and laugh at your pain. You wore your heart in your sleeve for her and it got shattered like glass. You have to be careful when pulling out each shard from your skin.

You remember her laughter the most. The way it was noiseless. The way her nose scrunched up and she bared her teeth, a little crooked behind her peach painted lips.

If you drank enough, throat searing from a too big sip of vodka that you nicked from one of her big brothers, you could see her face clearly in your mind. The arch of dark eyebrows, high on her forehead. Brown, sunny eyes wide, like she was seeing everything in the world for the first time.

She was always so happy with the mundanities, the little things. Eating breakfast in the kitchen, legs tangled together underneath the table. Laying across each other on the couch, her holding the remote far above your head. Stealing kisses in the sunspot on her bedroom floor, weary and idyllic.

It was a haphazard halcyon. It shouldn’t have happened. But everytime you think about her bare feet dancing across the creaky wooden floors something aches inside you. It’s a void that she left cracked open. You long to fill such a throbbing wound with salt water, just to feel the sting of it, just to feel anything linked to her.

If your drink some more, eyes growing droopy, you could feel her curled next to you in bed. The halo of her hair across the pillow, tickling your skin. Her breath fanning across your face. You’re so sure that she’s there. That she’ll be there when you wake up, smiling brighter than the sun.

You think maybe if you finish the bottle it’ll be real. It’ll be real and she’d come back and hold your hand and giggle that soft snicker and steal your clothes and tell you she’ll love you no matter what. But that doesn’t happen. You never finish the bottle. She never comes back. You fall asleep on her side of the bed and you wake up to a hangover and heartache.


	16. Gorgeous ✨  {Damian Wayne x Reader}

You _really_ liked the way he said your name. In fact, you were infatuated with the way he spoke. His voice was aged and mature like whiskey fermented in an oak barrel. His accent wasn’t standard; you could only pinpoint the pieces that formed the amalgamation. He would flutter through rolled ‘R’s and absent ‘P’s that spoke of his mother’s tongue to the long vowels and glottal stops of british tutors. There were words thrown in here and there that were rounded out like they were plucked straight from Dick Grayson’s larynx. Truthfully, you’ve spent way too much time staring at his mouth.

“Y/N,” he commanded from across the room. Heads turned, wandering eyes surveyed and judge and jury called you to the stand. The prince had invited you to his court with a single utterance and everyone that Damian Wayne had twirled around his little fingers were interested in seeing who you were. You stumbled forward, with shaky steps. One foot in front of the other like a newborn fawn.

He was a trap. An intrinsically beautiful human being created by the greats of the universe to torment you. You were often left speechless by him. Not just by the way he talked; the way he held himself like a sheathed sword. The promise of danger was obvious, but tempered by a very cool appearance. That sword was held by an unravelling string right above your head, swaying back and forth between ‘friends’ and ‘ _more_ _than_ friends.’ A blade was all that kept “You’re the most amazing thing I’ve seen today,” and “You look worse than shit,” on the same sardonic level of existence. You wanted to melt the blade.

“Yes?”

You were being introduced to a professor and some politicians and _–ah–_ an eager journalist who looked just as stunned by Damian as you felt. You were his escape plan, evidently. Taking it in stride, you slipped an arm under his bicep, preening into him like part of you longed to do. He must have to taken up a leaf from his father’s book if he was holding onto the detached playboy persona. He gestured to you with a twisted expression that you’d make him pay for later. You tugged on his arms, pulling him down a nearby hall.

Solid wood double doors opened up into a sitting room, just off the east wing of Wayne Manor. It wasn’t one that saw much use, based on the tarp covered furniture and heavy hung curtains that bathed the room in a deep, swallowing darkness. The only light was a sliver of silvery, grey moonlight that had squeezed through a teeny space between the drapes.

Damian, as expected, ventured in without any hesitation. He did _own_ the place. He flicked on lamps and fetched a crystal hobnail decanter of a clear brown liquid. Whiskey. He fixed two glasses, swirling them slightly as Jon Kent’s tell tale bark of laughter echoed down the hall. He handed a sparkling glass to you, the tips of his long fingers brushing against your skin for just a slender moment.You weren’t supposed to be drinking, but just the thought of being alone with him, being left to his mercy, made you take long gulps of the strong liquid. The burn in your throat was nothing compared to prickling heat that flared up under the ghost of his touch.

Low lighting made his copper skin burn umber. Dark, deep set eyebrows and thick, fluffy lashes framed his sea-green eyes. They twinkled with near amusement as his pouty pink mouth lifted into a smirk. A kindling of want sparked through you. Why did he have to look like that? It wasn’t good enough that he was _gorgeous._ It wasn’t good enough that he had a warm heart hidden under a cold sneer.

 _No._ He had to go and steal your soul too. You wanted to hang off his arm with real intent, to make him smile and laugh. It was a thought that lodged itself into your brain under permanent residence. It infuriated you. All your desires were laid out on a table before him and he never picked up on them. It filled you with red hot rage.

You wanted to kiss him so badly it drove you mad. _How could you?_ He was gorgeous. He was a Wayne and he was a Robin. He’d probably kissed and been kissed and done so much more than hold onto flickering day dreams. You never had a first kiss. You’d thought about it. You’d thought about it with him. A lot. You spent hours fantasizing about it. Right alongside replaying the sound of your name leaving his lips over and over like a love song.

You were frenzied and frantic and he was put together and sharp. You should _hate_ him. No one pissed you off like Damian. No one could make your blood boil like he did.

“What the _hell_ was that?”

“That,” he stalked. Not walked or ran or tripped. He _stalked_ , moving across the room to french doors that led out to a balcony. “Was an apprentice of Vicki Vale and she was out for blood.”

You supposed you had no choice but to follow, abandoning the empty glass on a side table. This was the epitome of Damian; it was follow me, listen to this, obey my command and then ask questions later. His hold on you was a well placed hand at the nape of your neck; secure but with enough room for protest. As if you would protest.

The night air was crisp. Winter had faded into spring with the caress of a gentle hand and as the first blooms of frangipanis and freesias peeped out from the ground of Alfred’s garden, the world was engulfed in the sweet, intoxicating scent. The heady rush of it, the fire of the whiskey and the warmth of his presence filled you with a brashness that felt unusual but necessary. You wished he would kiss you, right there under the star-light. But you also wished that you could have been kissed by someone else first, just to be sure.

For a second, you let yourself entertain the ridiculous thought of nipping out the room to ask Jon to do it. He would, in actuality. Sure he would laugh but he’d do it. And then you’d know if you were good enough to finally kiss Damian. _Did Jon ever kiss Damian? Then surely that would be a good idea. Right?_

“I never understood why father insists on making me stay through these inane events,” he uttered, sending your train of thought into a crashing halt. “I doubt he’d be happy we skipped out.”

“I doubt he’d be happy that we’re drinking his rum either.”

He shrugged it off, moving toward you with slow steps, like a hunter approaching a scared animal.

“I should say thank you.”

Another step forward, the distance between your body and his closing to just under a foot.

“For what?”

You took a step back, and he moved again. You could smell his cologne; rich and musky, overpowering the scent of the spring blooms.

“For getting me out of there.”

You stopped moving. Frozen and faintish. He was going to try to kiss you. You wanted him too, _oh how you needed him to kiss you_.

“N-no problem.”

The gap that separated your mouth from his was down to mere centimeters, if he just leaned in, you could taste the sound of your name off his tongue.

“Y/N,” he leaned in, hot breath and warm palm ghosting your own. The way the words spilled out of his mouth should have been illegal. Four words, the second best thing he could say after your name. “Can I kiss you?”

_Yes. Yes. Yes please. Kiss me._

“No!” you scrambled.

“No?”

“Uh-do you hear that? I have to go. My dog is barking.”

He blanched, and you took the opportunity to run, tripping over your own shoes as you bounded out the door.

“You don’t have a dog!” he called, but you didn’t stop.

Your heart was in your throat. An unruly, frantic pounding in your ears. You were going to be sick. _Why did you do that? Why didn’t you let him kiss you? What was wrong with you?_

You stood behind the solid doors debating whether or not you wanted to face a roomful of people when you were sure you looked like a harried mess. He hadn’t come in from the balcony, which was comforting enough. That meant he dropped the whole thing altogether, perhaps it would remain an unspoken moment between. Perhaps it would be the final nail in the coffin of your crumbling relationship.

“I can still see you, beloved.”

“I don’t want to go back out there.” Your own honesty came as a surprise to you.

“Then _stay_.” He was closer now, footfalls soft against a sprawling rug. “Stay and we can talk. I’m sorry I shouldn’t have been so forward with you. We can pretend it never happened.”

_Why was he apologizing when you were the one making a fool of yourself?_

“You weren’t being too forward.” You twisted your fingers around the golden door handles, wringing each digit around the cool metal forcefully. You were too coward to look at him.

“I wasn’t?” He sounded broken. His voice betrayed his every emotion. His voice made you weak. His voice was the last sound you wanted to hear before you died.

“I want you to kiss me.”

“But?”

“But I’ve never been kissed.”

You turned to gauge his reaction, fully expecting a sneer or some form of ridicule to be splayed across his features. Instead, his eyes were soft, his mouth open in surprise and he held his hands out at an awkward angle; as though he wanted to reach for you, but he wasn’t quite sure how to.

“If you let me..” he began and then he shook his head, lowering his gaze and trying again, “I would be honoured if…I would–”

“Yes. Yes you can kiss me.” _To hell with worry._ “Please kiss me.”

An arm was around your waist in a split second, a warm calloused palm at your neck. He tugged you into him, pressed you against his chest so that you could feel his heart thundering away in his chest. Slowly, leisurely, he leaned in. His narrow nose bumped yours, his pulse jumped under your hands and after what seemed like a century, his mouth captured your own.

His voice was a lilting melody of precious sound. His heart was a golden beacon encased in toughened metal. But his kiss, it was the purest, most significant part of himself that he had ever given you. It was unlike anything you ever experienced and all the things you ever wanted all at once. The broken pieces of the world clicked together, angels hummed and heaven opened up in that singular, shining moment.

When the need for air became to much, you pulled away gasping, clutching at him like he was the only thing anchoring your existence. He whispered, “I think I’m in love with you.”


	17. Let Me Down Slowly  ✨  {Jason Todd x Reader}

Guests; the city’s elite, family friends, and a trusted few, are still arriving through the main gates of the manor. A spring wedding promises a blooming marriage; the scent of honeysuckle and hydrangeas bid the crowd further into the garden where an altar stands, awaiting the arrival of the happy couple. The air outside is light; full of laughter, chipper and bright.

Inside the stately manor, the air is compacted by friction. It’s tense as a storm brews; destruction dances in between you both. You’re far from a happy couple.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Jason.” You’re caught on the verge of tears, saline stings your corneas, threatening to run down your cheeks. “Go home.”

“I can’t. I don’t have a home.”

The _‘not anymore’_ hangs silently between your bodies with all the subtlety of a loaded gun. It’s true. The boy you loved had died, been dragged through the pits of hell and then returned to his city to find that he was cast out. Everyone he loved patched up the hole he left haphazardly and chose to walk around it.

“You need to leave.”

–

_It had been cold that night; the last time you saw him. The moon was low and ripe, heavy like a hunter’s horn against a backdrop of sugar spilt stars. It had been so cold, and he’d been so warm._

_On a blanket, between Alfred’s rose bush and a willow tree, you’d gotten tangled in each other. Distracted. There was no way to pull apart from each other, where you ended and where he begun became the same point. You were a whole entity, burning like a wildfire under moonlight._

_“You need to stop being this reckless, Jason.”_

_He grinned, teeth nipping at your neck. Tender flesh was about to be bruised. “Making out in public reckless? Because your hair pulling kink is telling me otherwise.”_

_“I don’t have hair pulling- look that’s not what I was talking about.” You trace the jagged wound running up the side of his ribs again, fingers pushing against the puckered skin, still hot to touch. “You need to stop doing this to yourself.”_

_“Technically, the Riddler did that to me.”_

_“Jason.”_

_He leans up on his elbows and cool breeze rushes in to fill the space between your bodies.“Ok, ok. If I promise to be a little more careful. Will you go back to smiling?”_

_Your lips quirk up, sealing the deal for him. When you shiver, he falls back into you, trapping you in warmth and safety and promises._

–

You can’t find the words you’d been saving for him. Your throat closes in and your heart seizes up behind your rib cage, it aches in your chest. The tears come silently, a battle lost.

“Jason. C’mon man, you really shouldn’t be here.” Dick says the words like they scrape against his larynx on the way out, like their painful to utter. In a two button tuxedo that matches your outfit, he doesn’t look like he should be hurting at all.

Jason rounds on him with heavy footfalls. His anger twists his features into something so foreign that Dick flinches. The snarl at Jason’s lips promises a fight; where he regarded you with the tenacity and gentleness of a broken bird, he sneers at his brother like hawk catching sight of a scurrying mouse. Dick’s back is to the door, if Jason comes at him with barreling fists or a knife or -God forbid- a gun, there was only a slim chance of him escaping.

“Don’t talk to me Dick. You wish I’d leave.” He spares a glance at you, his eyes rimmed with unshed tears. “Oh, I bet both of you _wish_ I’d leave right now, huh? Tell me one thing. How long did you two wait after I was dead? _How long_ did it take Dickie?”

“It’s not like that!”

“Look at you two! What the fuck do you mean it’s not like that? Bull _-fucking-_ shit!”

You’re glad for the soundproof walls of Wayne manor, the guests in the garden would remain oblivious to their fighting if it came to that. You can see Stephanie from a nearby window, reassuring the seated crowd that you just needed a moment longer.

“If you calm down Jay,” you can see the tension in his neck, his shoulders straining. The fight in him is overdone to hide something, you’ve seen him like that too many times before to mistake it. He’s injured. “If you calm down, and let me explain, then you can stay.”

“You think I wanna stay here and watch you marry this prick?”

“I think you should stop being difficult and give me a chance to explain.”

“Fine.”

Jason approaches you; the man in front of you is not the same boy who kept you warm on cold nights. He towers over you, menacingly. You leer back as best as you can with wet cheeks, revelling in slick victory as he blanches at you still.

“First, sit down and let me see where you’re bleeding.”

“I’m fine. I don’-”

“I said sit the _fuck_ down Todd.”

–

_“Where are you going exactly?”_

_His voice is tinny through the phone, he sounds rushed and breathless. It’s not even dawn yet, but he called and you answered because his voice was one of the best things in the world, no matter the hour._

_“Ethiopia. It’s just a small mission. No big deal, I’ll be back soon.”_

_“Then why wake me up at the asscrack of dawn?”_

_You can his sharp intake of breath through the speaker. “Because….I don’t know. I’m kind of nervous, and you calm me down.”_

_“Are you saying I bore you, boy wonder?”_

_You can hear the smile in his voice despite the poor connection. “Sweetheart, you are the furthest thing from boring. Trust me.”_

_“Good. Why are you nervous then? If it’s a small mission?”_

_“Don’t worry about it. I gotta go, I love you.”_

_The call cuts before you can say it back._

–

“Jesus Christ.”

“Close, but it’s just Jason.”

“That’s a bullet. You have a _bullet_ in you. How are you even walking Jason?”

He’s perched on an armchair in the unused sitting room you’d all commandeered, arms spread and jacket undone. The white t-shirt he wore underneath is soaked scarlet with his blood.

 _“Jesus,”_ you hiss again as you ruck his shirt up, exposing the messy wound in his abdomen once more. “Dick, we have to get this out. Now.”

He’s still stood against the door, shock and awe lingering on his face. “I’ll get Alfred.”

“No, if Alfred leaves, they’ll know something’s wrong. Get Damian.”

Jason makes to move at that, but you stop him with a rough push to his collar bones.

“I don’t want the demon spawn anywhere near me.”

“Damian has the most medical experience and right now, the steadiest hands,” you soothe, forcing yourself to maintain a fabricated handle on your emotions.

“Not. Happening,” he spits.

“Then you die. _Again._ Asshole.”

“Why does that matter to you?”

He wraps a warm hand against your one of your own. His fingers feel the same against your skin: rough and calloused, rounded cuticles and short, blunt nails. He isn’t sniping, he sounds broken and it crushes you. Seeing him hurt in front of you, is like losing him all over again.

“I _can’t_. I _can’t_ deal with that again. I can’t.”

–

_“Are you getting out of bed today Y/N?”_

**He didn’t make it back from Ethiopia. He didn’t call again. You never said ‘I love you’ back.**

_You only find out after Bruce found his body. You only find out because Barbara showed up at your door with tears in her eyes and a box of Jason’s things. The box that sits untouched in your room because you don’t have the strength to open it. You barely have the strength to move._

_“Ok. No answer, that’s fine. At least tell me you’ll eat something? Please. C’mon you haven’t eaten in days_.”

**You should have known. You knew something was off with him when he called. You could have stopped him then. You should have. It’s your fault.**

_“I’m fine.” It’s a lie. But you spit it out like acid and it sends your mother’s comforting touch flying out your room. She doesn’t know what to do with your grief and you don’t know how to be okay for her._

**You wish you had been there with him. You wish you could have died with him. You wish he never left. It’s your fault. You never said ‘I love you’ back.**

_Dick picks you up for his funeral, three days after he died. Neither of you talk; not on the way there, not during and not after. There’s so many members of the Justice League present, but you don’t even look at them, because all you would see is their love for him mirroring the hollowed pit of loss inside you._

_You don’t eat. You don’t sleep. You don’t heal. It hurts so much you think you’re dying. You’re convinced that your heart will give out in your chest. You cry until you diaphragm is sore, until your lungs give out, until you’re face down in the toilet heaving bile into the bowl._

**You never said ‘I love you’ back.**

–

There’s no anesthetic. No real medical supplies. Over a hundred ansty guest sitting in the garden and three brothers who want nothing more than to press knives to each other’s throats locked inside a room together. The urge to have a panic attack is so strong that you dig your nails in your palms until they bleed, leaving red, crescent shaped marks on soft skin.

“I can’t do this here.” Damian says. He sounds as exasperated as he looks, hair tousled and sleeves pushed up his forearms. There’s blood on his skin, on yours, on the chairs. “We need to take him down to the cave.”

“Can we move him that far?” you ask as Dick huffs;

“We can’t risk so many of us leaving these people unattended.”

Anger zings through you. You don’t care about them anymore. They aren’t a priority when Jason is lying in front of you with a gaping wound, each breath he takes more ragged and wet than the previous.

“You stay then. We’ll go.”

“Both of you can’t move him. Not alone.”

Jason’s twice your weight and he can barely walk. He has a good foot on Damian and he can barely stand the sight of him.

“Don’t underestimate us, Grayson.” Damian’s voice is laced with a fierce determination that has less to do with his brother’s health and more to do with Dick doubting him. But you’re grateful for it.

“Tell the guest I have cold feet. Tell them I’m sick. Tell them leave, _I don’t care_.”

“You know they can’t _leave_ Y/N,” Dick warns. “Not yet.”

You ignore him and help Damian tug Jason up until he’s standing, arms slung around both of your shoulders. His blood staining your clothes.

He rasps and coughs out, “What does that mean?”

–

_It takes a month of reckless behaviour before anyone bothers to step in. To temper you. To whisper words about loss and strength and what Jason would and would not want you to be doing with your life._

**You never said ‘I love you’ back. And you will never be able to.**

_Drinking doesn’t stick. Hangovers feel no different than the sickness of grief and with alcohol loosened limbs and lips all you can do is flail and cry harder._

_Drugs don’t feel great. More of the same; dry heaving and sorrow._

_It’s not until you find yourself in the Narrows, knuckles bashing against some poor thugs jawline until it cracks under your hands does Batman find you._

_You didn’t talk to him at the funeral. You avoided Bruce and he avoided you. You can’t tell whose anger is worse. You can’t tell whose grief is worse. You can’t tell who’s more broken._

_“I’m taking you home.”_

_He keeps trying to get you in the Batmobile, to sit still but you persistently shove him off._

_“I don’t have a home anymore. Leave me alone.”_

_He stops at that, “I left him alone too, look how that turned out.”_

_And then your hitting him, fists smashing against kevlar over and over again until your own knuckles are bleeding. You have no intention to hurt Bruce, not really. Not when he’d been a kind, pillar of guidance for you at every turn. But you aren’t ready to deal with Jason being mentioned in casual conversation. You aren’t ready to truly deal with his death at all._

_“Go home tonight. Eat. Sleep. Tell your mother that your internship at Wayne Enterprises starts Monday,” he says gruffly, catching your wrists in one hand._

_“I don’t remember applying for an internship.”_

_“You didn’t. You wanna deal with your grief this way? Fine. You start training on Monday.”_

–

The rushing pulse of the waterfall outside the cave’s exit lulls some of the panic between you three. Jason grows too weak to complain somewhere between the sitting room and the clock entrance to the cave and remains quiet the entire time.

Damian proceeds with urgency and agility. He has a surety in his movements that leaves even Jason in awe. It’s easy to forget he’s just a teenager when he can calmly master major surgery. When he’s done, he closes the wound, washes his hands and fixes you with a pitiful stare.

“You ruined that Vera Wang with his blood.”

“I’ll live.” More importantly, so will he. “Thanks Dames.”

“I’m going to inform Grayson. I’ll send Alfred to find you something else to wear, perhaps get something for Todd as well.”

Jason’s skin is pale under the bright lights of the infirmary area. Cold sweat clings to his forehead, slicking his hair into inky tufts that make the streak of white stand out more. You aren’t used to it, and the part of you that used to spend your nights carding your fingers through his curls longs to touch it. His eyes are closed, breaths expelling evenly in sleep; you let yourself brush the hair off his forehead, slow and gentle. More of a comfort to you than him.

“You still have a hair pulling kink.”

You startle at his voice but recover quickly. “And you’re still reckless.”

“What did Dick mean? About not leaving all the guests alone?”

“There’s a hitlist out.”

“What?”

–

_“Two things.”_

_“Please. Please. Let me have this victory Dick. Even Bruce said I did a good job on patrol. Please don’t complain.”_

_He leans against the rail around the cave’s upper walkway, with his white-out mask on, you don’t read the serious intensity in his eyes. “I’m not complaining. Relax. You need to hear this though, Barbara wanted to be the one to tell you but…. I figured it’d be better coming from me.”_

_“What is it?”_

_“Well, one. Jason’s alive.”_

_“What?”_

_“And two, I need you to say yes to get fake married to me.”_

_“What?” you parrot incredulously. “What do you mean Jason’s alive?”_

_The floor shifts from under you. Months of training disappears and you almost become the shell of a human that couldn’t move out of bed, from all those months ago._

–

“A _hitlist_. Dead pool. A list of names of people who someone wants dead.”

“I know what a hit list is. I don’t follow. What does that have to do with you becoming the future _Mx. Grayson_?”

“A couple months ago,” _when you came back from the dead._ “We got a list of names of citizens. Each name was attached to a figure. Whoever took out the person got rewarded in cash.”

“Who put out the list?”

“We don’t know. But guess what it was almost identical too?”

His eyelashes, thick and dark, flutter open slowly. His eyes have gotten bluer in his absence; churning, foamy oceans. Alive and powerful and still beckoning you to drown.

“Still don’t follow.”

“Dick and Barbara were going to get married. She broke it off but they weren’t on bad terms, so they kept most of the wedding stuff. When she was cross referencing names to find a source, she found that a lot of the names on this list were on the guest list to their wedding.”

“So throw a wedding, invite all the people to die and hope and pray the person that wants them dead shows up?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve come up with less stupid plans than that.”

“Look, Dick Grayson- first in line for the Wayne fortune- is getting hitched. That’s a big wedding, the people of Gotham are guaranteed to show up. Even the people who want him dead.”

“Dick’s on the list? Why did no one tell me?”

“He’s the first name and something about _eight_ heads in a duffle bag?”

Jason goes silent as it resonates in his mind. You can see the wheels turning, the minute everything clicks into place is marked by his hand squeezing your own.

“You’re on the list too.”

“A lot of people are on it Jason. But if we play our cards right, we could save a lot of lives.”

–

Your sitting on an old blanket, tucked into the space between Alfred’s rose bushes and a willow tree, when he finds you.

“Are you cleared for mayhem now?”

“All better and ready for the chaos.”

The not-wedding didn’t last long. You were right, Gotham may have been a stubborn mistress, but her killers were predictable. The creator of the list, an old merc who had mob ties and festering hatred for the city had shown up, tried to set off a bomb only to be swiftly subdued by the Batman. The press loved it. According to them, your marriage to Dick Grayson fell apart because the trauma of it all was too much to bare.

“Did you see the paper?”

“Yep. Vicki Vale outdid herself, truly,” he says with a dazzling smile, sharp and bright. A Robin smile.

“Did you apologize to Dick?”

The smile falters and he scrunches up his nose in distaste. “He knows.”

“ _Jay_ ,” you try to sound patronizing but fall flat in near amusement.

“I will.”

He shuffles from foot to foot, looking unsure of himself. For a moment, you pretend that there isn’t an abyss of darkness between you. It’s easier than you expected, to find love for him hiding underneath the pain of losing him.

When you say, “Stay,” he doesn’t hesitate to drop down next to you. Like you did, a lifetime ago, but now with a glacial pace, you slide your hand up the edge of his shirt to feel the healing wound. His breath hitches, and you freeze.

“I really wanna kiss you.”

You want nothing more than for him to press his mouth against yours and kiss away every fraying memory of your life without him. You want him to kiss you until you’re whole again, until you don’t feel as cold.

“We can’t go back to being the people we were before. I _can’t_ deal with losing you again Jason.”

“You won’t.” He takes your face in gentle palms, “You _won’t_ ever lose me again. I promise. I promise you that.”

Tears come unbridled. He wipes them away as fast as they fall. “I never got to say I love you back. That day. I never-”

“You didn’t have too. I knew then. I know now.”

He leans into you, skin burning against your own. This kiss is different. Brand new and tinged with salty tears, but it’s still somehow solidly the same. His tongue in your mouth holds a familiarity that you will never forget. He nips at your bottom lip and heaves a sigh. When he nudges you flat against the old blanket, you tug him further into you by his hair, letting him hold you together with warmth and safety and promises.


	18. A Winter Proposal ✨ {Damian Wayne x Reader}

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my knowledge of arabic is limited to a handful of phrases: 'ya hayati' means my life and 'ya habib alby' means love of my heart. That’s to my knowledge, if it needs to corrected, just let me know.

He needed it to be perfect. It had to be perfect. You deserved a gesture that was flawless and beautiful and unforgettable because that’s what you were. You were his _everything_. Forget hanging the moon, you were the reason the sun rose in the morning and cried itself to sleep at night; your smile, your laugh, your all encompassing aura kept the world spinning.

You kept his world spinning. He could never even try to imagine a life without you. It was too painful, too much, too raw. Holding you at night, your nose pressed into his clavicle was like an anchor that kept the nightmares at bay. Your hand, curled into his, squeezing so tight, bled tendrils of anger out of his body; unwrapping the tight ropes of frustration that coiled around him. You were his everything; and you deserved a perfect proposal.

He checks in with Alfred again, nosing around the pots and pans and trays in the kitchen. He keeps fiddling with his tie, breath coming only in shallow pants at the thought of anything that would cause him to falter. All the words he planned to say to you spins round and round in his brain making him dizzy. Despite this, he was filled to the brim with love for you. His heart thrums against his ribcage, so fast and so loud that he could hear it quicken with each breath.

“Master Damian, would you please sit down. You look faint.”

Alfred pushes him into the dining room and stuffs him into a chair. The flower arrangements there are all white: baby’s breath, camellia and Japanese anemone twined together with calla lilies and tulips. All were as white as the fresh snow that covered every inch of the ground outside. Pure and a little unusual in their combination. Just like both of you.

Through the glass doors in the dining room he could see the glint of low hanging fairy lights, golden like champagne. They were hung in strings by Cass’ expert hand, overlain with little glass orbs of bouvardia and snapdragon. It looked magical and otherworldly. He hopes desperately that you would like it.

He was nitpicking again, tearing into everything that he could see. _What if it was too cold? What if you weren’t in the right mood? What if you didn’t love him as much as he loved you?_

And then he knew he had to pull himself back. To reel it in. Because that was a dark thought. _He knew you loved him_. You poured adoration and love and comfort out with every touch, kiss and look shared. Every moment with you was hazed with the soft pink glow of it. Every moment with you was precious. God, he hoped it came close to perfect.

When the doorbell rings, and the old wooden doors are pulled open with a clatter, he couldn’t help but feel like someone replaced all the bones in his legs with jelly. For a moment he’s stuck, sweat clings to his forehead and temples despite the cold and his heart is so scared that it’s taken up residence in his throat.

“Dami?” the sweet, dulcet tone of your voice pulls him back, like it always does. Just the sound of you and his whole body unfurls, tension dissipating like wisps of smoke. He can do this. He needs to do this. He needed to marry you like yesterday.

“In here,” he calls, steeling himself for the sight of you. Trying to prepare himself for the way you knock him off his feet.

And yet, as your gentle footsteps reach the hall, your shadow preceding you, he knows he’ll never be prepared for the beauty you hold. He can never grow tired of it, never find it ordinary. You belong in the works of Runge and Rembrandt. A work of art that he could never pathom.

He’s drawn you so many times, knows all your curves and edges like strokes of a paintbrush, like the scritch of a pencil on a sketchpad. All the time he’s spent looking at you, trying to capture your essence, and your smile still manages to melt his brain. To make his cheeks flush with colour and his breath catch in his throat.

“Did you do all of this?” you gesture to the flowers and the lights outside.

“Cass and Dick helped,” he admits, reaching an arm out to pull you in. “Happy Anniversary, _ya hayati_.”

“This is…” your voice trails, eyes going glassy, “It’s _perfect_. I can’t even…thank you, gorgeous.” you whisper the words into his chest and the relief that floods him is like the first gasp of air after drowning.

“Can we step outside? There’s one more thing I have for you.”

He leads you out the door with sweaty palms, struggling to remember the speech he had planned. You stop in the middle of the deck. Your skin is flushed out by the snow and coloured gold by the lights. You stop, eyes slowly drinking it all in, hands clasped as though you’re beckoning to some higher power. He takes a moment to capture the image of you; it’s something so prepossessing. Something that makes his hands itch to paint.

He draws in a deep breath, mutters a final prayer to God before dropping to one knee, head bowed at your mercy. “Beloved. _Ya habib alby,_ there are no words. None in any language that can describe the way I feel about you. I have spent so much time searching. So much of my life, trying to be a soldier, a hero and a brother. With you, I’ve never had to try. With you, I could just be.”

“Dami-”

“I know, _I know,_ ” he whispers, voice cracking as tears come running down your cheeks. “Let me just say this; you are a part of me. Even if I was cut open and bled dry, my heart would still beat only for you, only for your love. You’re my whole world, my best friend. You’ve taken me as I am. You deserve every star in the universe my love. Every one.”

His hands tremble as he takes out the ring, it glitters with hope in his shaking fingers as you let out a raw sob. “Will you do me the honour–”

“Yes! Yes! Of course,” and your kissing him. He fumbles with the ring, slips it on just before you wrap your arms around his neck. Something bursts inside him, like a dam that’s been churning for too long and as you sob; salty, wet, happy tears into the kiss he holds you tight. Eyes stinging with emotion.

It’s a ridiculous sight; both of you in expensive clothes on the cold, snow covered ground, laughing and crying and kissing. The furious clicking of a camera followed by squeals and giggles tells him that his family is watching, documenting the moment for you. He’s grateful for it. For them. For you. It was perfect, just as it needed to be.


	19. Wouldn’t Have It Any Other Way ✨ {Jason Todd x Reader}

“What do you want for dinner?” **  
**

Jason’s voice carries from the kitchen, muffled slightly by the hum of a commercial. You bury your head further into one of his sweatshirts, groaning lazily from where you were crashed out on the couch, legs dangling off the edge.

“Anything’s fine.”

“You say that,” you glance up at him lazily as he struggles to balance two mugs of steaming earl grey and a plate of cookies (courtesy of Alfred, bless his soul) in his hands. “And then when I order the food, you don’t eat it.”

You snort, rolling over and pressing your face back into the cushions, revelling in the combination of warmth and softness on your skin. “Let me rephrase. Anything’s fine except shitty sandwiches from Al’s.”

“What do you want then?”

“ _Mhmm_.” The floorboards creak as he walks over to stand above you.

“I’m ordering from Al’s.”

“Jason, no,” you hiss, clutching the sweatshirt closer to your nose. It smelled like cordite, orange blossom detergent and the expensive brown sugar shower gel that he kept stealing from you.

“Then turn over and make a decision.” His hands dig into your sides, forcing you to roll over and look up at him. He’s still blearily eyed from his nap. His hair sticks up in all directions and the white streak left over from the Lazarus pit is matted to his forehead. You grin slowly up at him and he glares.

“I’m sleepy. You do it.”

“Al’s it is, you brat,” he flings himself onto your legs, pressing his body weight against you as you squirm beneath him.

“Get off me. I’m dying.”

“Shut up. I’m on the phone.” He lets up though, taking your feet into his lap as he murmurs his order into his phone. You bring the hoodie up to cover your face, leaving just your eyes free before pulling the strings tight, so you can stare at him freely without worrying about him seeing you grin like an idiot. Even sleep dishevelled and straight faced, he was still gorgeous. Like moonlight incarnate, flushed pale in the blue glow of the television.

You’d always thought of feelings as a Rubik’s cube. Some people could figure out their emotions in seconds, compartmentalize what they needed to and then move on with their lives, some people took their time but still managed to figure it all out; and others that were filled with apprehension by the sight of such complexity simply choose to leave it alone. Unfortunately, you’d always found yourself wavering between the latter.

Relationships were always an onerous conquest; you were always so trepid. Like a mouse running through the streets, danger was at every turn and you were wholly drowning in your own feelings. But with Jason, it was completely different. Being his best friends was as natural as blinking; falling in love with him was as natural as breathing. The sight of him didn’t twist your stomach into a knot or make your head ache in confusion. It was just easy. It was just existing with him in the same room, breathing in the same air with synced heart beats and no hassle.

“You’re staring.” He doesn’t even look at you; his eyes are glued to his phone, thumbs skating across the small screen rapidly.

“You’ve gotten uglier,” you say, because he’s pretty and you like winding him up too much. You drink him in like wine every chance you get.

“Blasphemy. I’m the best looking guy you know,” he grumbles, flicking at your kneecap.

“True.”

You wiggle yourself up into a sitting position, wrapping an arm around his neck and nosing yourself into his shoulder.. The white flash of light from the television illuminates the room once more. There he is, moonlight. His eyes are crystal clear blue, the colour of the sky, flecked with bits of grey, like falling snow on winter mornings. There’s a whole world in them.

The phone drops from his hands. Those all encompassing eyes meet your own, a diamond sparkle of mischief sneaking into them. A moment passes where the weight of his hand around your ankle grows from a warming comfort to a searing promise. He shucks the hoodie off your head with an outstretched hand, ruffling your hair into a mess. Jason soothes the protests flying from your mouth by drawing himself up, folding himself between your legs and pressing you back into the groaning couch cushions.

Reflexively, you go still, barely breathing. Your body tenses in anticipation as his long, steady fingers slide up the hem of the sweatshirt. His hands on your skin are warm but the pressure they apply is so frustratingly slight.

“We have 20 minutes before the food gets here,” he says, using his nails to draw light patterns into your sides. “I have an idea of what we can do while we wait.”

His voice drips with cool confidence, charm seeps from his words and soaks into your clothing. Despite his slick venture into seduction, he wears a telling lovesick stretch of a smile across his face. You slide your hands up his forearms, the bunched muscles of his biceps and wrap them around his neck to draw him closer.

“I think I know what you mean,” you glide the flat heel of your foot up his calf with a returning half-smile at his soft hum. “Nap.”

“What? No…is that…are you _really_ that tired? You slept until lunch time and I just woke up.”

He still succumbs to your touch, dropping himself down, tucking his head under your chin. You take free reign, sliding your hands to stroke through inky, soft tresses.

Time stills in amber. You’re trapped in the viscosity of it, letting the moment curl itself slowly into your mind. It lasts a few seconds longer, permeating in your memory, and then the world tilts sideways.

The slam of a window being jerked open and the clatter of glass has Jason up in a split second. You barely register his movements until you spot the silvery glint of his glock over you.

“Jas-” He slaps a hand over your mouth, forces his arm down against you to keep you still. His elbow digs into your sternum and your eyes fly open in fear.

Time has gone from a slow trickle of water in a creek to the rush of a river. There are no footsteps, no sound of movement, nothing to identify the on coming threat. Jason takes a cautious step away from you, signalling with a pointed finger for you to fall in behind him. You comply, twisting your fingers tightly into the cotton of his t-shirt.

“-ime for your antics Todd. Where are you? _Ya Allah_.”

Damian, donning his Robin gear complete with a domino mask, glided into your living room with an air of royalty that dissolves the previous tension. Relief slicks your lungs like air. The fear slides away, leaving a hint of anger.

“What the hell are doing Demon?” Jason spits, his tone lacks a loathsome malice and instead settles into the easy bite of sibling rivalry.

“Jason, drop the gun. Wait-” It suddenly dawns on you that he had to have that particular weapon stashed underneath the couch cushions. You swat at his back with a closed fist.

“Why do you have a gun under our couch?”

“Ow!” He places the gun onto the coffee table, rubbing at the space where you lashed him between his shoulder blades. “Because, we could have been in actual danger. Plus, these are rubber bullets. Ow, you asshole!”

He jabs a finger at Damian, who still stands in the bedroom doorway, surveying you both with unobstructed boredom. “Again. What are you doing?”

You drop back into the couch. Damian moves like a snake, walking with such ease that you have to question whether he’s floating or not. When he speaks, his words are curt and enunciated in a way that makes your mind conjure up images of a crown and staff.

“Grayson and father are driving me crazy.” He heaves a sigh, leaning more bodily into the doorframe with crossed arms. “I just needed a break.”

The prince peels away in the confession, and finally you can see the frazzled teenager underneath. It’s a brief, godblessed glint of him and it’s gone before you can truly comprehend it.

“So why come here?” Jason slides in next to you, raising his chin in a nod towards the opposing armchairs. Damian sinks into it and crosses his legs.

“I can’t go to any of the safehouses, Gordon or Drake would track me easily. Brown and Cain have the night off and I don’t wish to intrude on their free time. You won’t actively contact father first. ”

“Process of elimination basically?”

“Yes.”

Jason sighs, dramatically dropping his head into his hands.

“So,” Damian says. “What’s for dinner? Anything except those horrible sandwiches you like are fine with me, Todd.”

***

Saturday mornings were often marked by Jason sliding through the window with the crisp bite of morning air that settled over the city. If the night’s patrol hadn’t been particularly dire, he would come bearing breakfast in a greasy brown bag that would sit on the kitchen table until either of you deigned to get out of bed. You would mostly find yourself trapped under the weight of his sleeping body, watching as the world was roused to wakefulness by golden touched hues of pale blue and peachy-pink.

This Saturday was no different, except for the fact that Jason’s post patrol adrenaline high was lasting a little longer than usual and he insisted on making the most of it. Waking you from sleep, he latched his mouth onto your neck with the singular intent of leaving a trail of hickies down your skin for you to complain about later in the week. You let him, because you secretly liked them, and because the sunrise blooming through the windows touched your skin and flushed you warm. There were pancakes waiting for you both on the coffee table, and Jason smelt like home as he hovered above you, cradling you in his arms.

“You owe me another bottle of that sugar scrub by the way.”

“Uh- _huh_.”

He continues murmuring something into your collarbones, but you can’t concentrate on that because his hands are on your skin and the words don’t want to dislodge themselves from your throat. All at once, the happiness of being in this moment with him, enjoying the taste of serendipity floods all of your senses, and it has you tugging him just a bit closer. You’re intertwined in each other, gasping and grinning between kisses. It was like being divulged in the heart of summertime dizziness whenever you were with him. A flurry of overwhelming need and over-concentrated awareness.

So much so, that neither of you notice Stephanie’s presence at the foot of the bed until she wolf whistles. Jason flies back so fast you get whiplash just looking at him.

“Well, well, well. Are you two kids using protection?”

Twisted in sheets and flushed down to his chest, Jason snaps, “What do you want Blondie? And will people stop coming in through our windows.”

Stephanie grins and holds up both hands in surrender. She looks awfully chipper in the early hours. “Hey, I came through the door. I even walked past your bitchy doorman. Who did not return my ‘good morning’ by the way. And I knocked before picking the lock.”

“ _Stephanie_ ,” he warns.

“Alright, alright. Both of you promised me you were going to help me pick out stuff for my apartment today remember?”

“We didn’t.”

“Actually,” You cleared your throat, wincing as his sullen gaze came back to you, “We _did_.”

**

“What do you think little bird?” he asked, holding out both items for you to survey.

Stephanie had already made the rounds and gotten everything she needed and then a bunch of things she wanted for shits and giggles. She’d chosen lilac curtains, fought with Jason over brass or silver rods ( _“These go with the floors.” “I don’t care about the floors, I just like this one.”_ ) and picked up all the little things like lamps and dish racks and towel holders. Bigger appliances and furniture she’d resolved to order online. After about two hours, she run off with a ‘I need to pee,’ and a texted promise of Starbucks, leaving you at Jason’s mercy. Mostly, you knew she was tired of Jason making pros and cons list about everything she wanted to get.

You tried to regard the drawer handles he was showing you with some semblance of interest, but honestly they looked the same. “That one.”

“You’re saying that to hurry me up, aren’t you?”

“ _Yep_.” It was cute how he got all invested. Every purchase he made had to be purposeful, precise and reasoned out before he made it. You couldn’t help but like his dorkiness a bit more.

He beamed. “Should we get a new rug for the living room?”

“No. It’ll just get blood on it like the last one.”

**

“I _told_ you it would get blood on it.”

From where he lay on the floor, Tim groaned, clutching at tufts of carpet with white knuckles. He’d came in through the window— living room, not bedroom, because he had _class_ — and offered a small ‘Hey’ before passing out.

Jason, who also had blood dripping from his chin, had rushed home from some brawl to find that you’d already treated Tim’s wounds, and called Alfred to let him know Red Robin was okay.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” He nudged Tim with his toe, “Should I move him now?”

You both gently placed Tim onto the sofa. You reached under it to move Jason’s stashed gun while he locked the window again.

“I’m really tired of them coming through here.”

“Because a bunch of vigilantes waltzing in through the front door otherwise isn’t a big red flag at _all_.”

***

You’re shovelling ice cream in your mouth when you hear the familiar click and thud of the window. It’s an amusing regularity now, one that usually brings a revolving door of vigilantes into your home. You fully expect it to be either Jason coming back from patrol early or Steph who, since she moved into the building across the street, has practically been in your home everyday. Perhaps Damian, ready to hide from his responsibilities like a regular teenager again or Dick, Tim or Cass. Duke was nice enough to call before he came and Roy liked the novelty of banging on the door and screaming at the top of his lungs, _“Are you guys done having sex?”_

It’s not any of them that greet you when you finally look up, spoon hanging from your mouth.

“Bru-uh _Batman_ ,” you squeak. “Is everything okay?”

He seems so much more daunting in the darkness and you could see, not for the first time, how his whole shtick worked. How criminals ran in fear of one man; he was the embodiment of the darkness, a quiet force that demanded morality from the room he loomed in.

“It’s fine. I just…” he trails, cocking his head to the side as he collects his words. It’s something Jason does too. “I keep inviting him over for dinner, he accepts but he never comes. I know Alfred misses him and I was wondering…”

“We’ll be over. Don’t worry about it,” you promise.

He nods, turning to leave. “Thanks.”

“And Bruce,” He looks back at you, “I know it isn’t _only_ Alfred that misses him.”

**

“Don’t put that in the cart.”

He nearly careens into the snack aisle as he’s warning you and you grimace up at him from where you’re clinging onto the front of the trolley.

“Why not?”

“ _Because_ Dick sometimes comes over just to eat that stuff.”

You drop the cereal back onto the shelf with a huff and reach for the healthier option. Grocery shopping after midnight was a lot more fun. For one, Jason let you hold on to the cart while he pushed it around and another, he was a little less strict about his _“take only what we need”_ policy. It’d become a weird part of his routine that you absorbed into yours, just because you knew how much he liked it. The whole thing was a slice of normalcy folded in with the strangeness of Jason’s life that you’d grown fond of.

“I like it.”

“You’ll rot your teeth.”

You gallantly lean over the cart to poke at his chest. “Are you being bitchy because we’re going to your dad’s house for dinner tomorrow?”

“No.”

“Alfred misses you.”

“Everyone should miss me. I’m _amazing_ ,” he says, matter of factly.

“Yeah ok.” You drop the sugary cereal back into the cart when he’s busy looking over the grocery list. “If you behave then I promise to _su-_ ”

“Okay. I’ll behave.”

You twist around to scan the prices on some popcorn kernels, “You don’t even know what I was gonna say.”

He chooses two of the cheapest packs and nabs a box of microwaveable ones before pushing the cart into the next aisle. “I’m pretty sure the key words rhymed with ‘fuck’ and ‘prick.’

“You wish, bird boy.”

**

“For someone who likes songs about cocaine and bitches, you really don’t like actual gangsters. Do you?”

“Cardi B and Harvey Dent are not on the same level and you know it.” You snort, pressing a saline soaked cloth further into the wound at his shoulder, leaning your body weight into his thighs when he hisses. “I’m not scared of them if that’s what you’re asking. I would appreciate it if they’d stop trying to cut you open though.”

He clamps down on his bottom lip; to keep himself from laughing and from screaming out as you stitch him up. While you’re joking about and handling him with a tender touch he really doesn’t deserve, he knows you’re hurting inside. He knows you hate seeing him like this. No matter how proud you were at the end of the day, no matter how much you knew that this was who he was always going to be; there would always be a discomfort creeping at the back of your mind.

“We have to be up early tomorrow, by the way.”

“For _why_?” you duck down to drop some bloodied cotton into a nearby trash can. “For _what_?”

“I’m gonna get locks for the windows. To keep the bat brats out.”

“Jason,” you said, cupping his chin in your hand. “ _You_ are one of the bat brats that comes through the window.”


	20. Crush Culture ✨ {Damian Wayne x Reader.}

**“You speak to me in words. But I look at you with feeling.” - Pierrot le Fou (1965) dir. Jean-Luc Godard**

**May.**

The debriefing was dragging. Nightwing’s hackles were raised; he was pissed and protective. His voice rang out commanding and sharp in front of the group of gathered heroes. It dripped with disappointment. Words like ‘careless’ and ‘dead’ jumped out at you, while everything else floated away. You were bone tired. Too worn out to give any effort, no matter how much you respected Dick.

The giant alien creature you all had taken down had been clumsy but strong, it mowed you all flat before it was taken out. Your bones and muscles ached, your head throbbed and there was a long streak of alien goop clinging to your legs that you longed to wash off. Beside you, Jaime Reyes yawned, echoing your exhaustion. He shot a sheepish look at you, and you twisted your mouth back in an _‘I know right_ ’ gesture.

“Let me reiterate, if any of you ever do something this reckless again, you’ll be sorry.”

“Yes. Yes, Grayson. _We get it_. Can we go to bed now?”

No one else but a _Bat_ would talk to Nightwing that way. Wally perhaps. But it was the effervescent Damian Wayne who stood tall through the parted crowd with his arms crossed and foot tapping at the cement floor of the control room, impatiently. Sometimes the princeling in him was so blatantly obvious that one would think he was incomplete without a crown. You snickered at his stance, drawing the attention of the room. He turned into your gaze with the sly grace of wolf and offered you a tender smile. It was a quick, stunning flash of teeth and dimples accompanied by the lopsided curve of his full lips. Your knees went weak immediately.

Dick huffed a frustrated sigh, “You’re all dismissed.”

The room stirred but Damian’s eyes held onto you for a prolonged moment, kept you chained in place as his eyelashes fluttered. You wanted to run toward him and you wanted to run away. You’d always had mixed feelings about Damian Wayne. The kind that made you want to punch him in the mouth and then lick away the blood.

Gross and _romantic_. He was arrogant. Abrasive. He had a knack for being right all the time and he was one of the best fighters you’d ever met. You didn’t know if he could become any more appealing to you; he was a good hero, practically royalty and he had a smart mouth. He crawled under your skin and slid into your heart like he owned the place. You were doomed.

But you still couldn’t wrap your mind around the idea of him actually wanting you. He was _gorgeous_ in a way that made your head spin just looking at him. Damian was guaranteed heartbreak and you knew if you let yourself, you’d actively participate in your own undoing. He made your feelings crash together chaotically like they were in a blender set on pulse. He knew it, you were sure. You weren’t good at hiding it at all. Diana always said you broadcasted your expressions openly across your face. But she had raised you that way; to wear your heart on your sleeve and to love even if it made you feel like you were sticking glass into your skin. Mostly, you just hated that everyone noticed.

Romance had become a fickle thing. You weren’t going to give into him just to have a fleeting relationship that would only leave you broken. No matter how much you wanted too. You wouldn’t. Dating a teammate was a terrible idea. Donna had preached that a million times. It didn’t matter that all your other friends were busy sucking each others faces off anyways. The mess that they would eventually end up would drown you all in awkwardness and you would not let yourself become a part of that. Not even for Damian Wayne and his dimples.

“You’re doing it again.” Jaime Reyes’ accusatory tone snapped you right out of your thoughts, blunt like a slap to the face. His mouth was quirked at the edges, torn somewhere between amusement and sympathy.

“Doing what?” you asked, studying the way his armour retracted with a little too much intensity, a darkened purple hickey was visible at the edge of his collar. You already knew what he’s going to say.

“Staring at Robin like you’re about to jump him.”

“I’m not.”

“You _were_.”

“Shut up Reyes!”

He laughed in the face of your embarrassment. It wasn’t cruel though. In fact, he looked like he was on the verge of offering some grand commiseration. You screwed your eyes shut, wishing you could disappear.

“You could just go talk to him, you know,” he said, pulling you into a one armed hug. “It’s better than that creepy game of ‘Who blinks first’ that you guys play.”

“I like the scarab better than you sometimes.”

**June.**

Hanging out with Jon Kent was often like playing fetch with an excited golden retriever. It left you breathless but mostly satiated with the warmth of happiness. Goodness oozed out of his pores and it was somehow too difficult to be sad around him. Diana was persistent that you maintain his friendship because of it. You loved him, truly you did. In all his part-kryptonian lumosity and upbeat candor.

Sometimes though, you wished he couldn’t see right through your anger. You were trying so hard at hiding your feelings. If it were a mission, you’d be able to do it for sure. But the familiarity of summer days at the Kent farm cracked you open like an egg and made your insides fry in the heat of the shining sun.

“We can talk about it.”

“About what?” you kicked your legs off the dewy grass again and his hands immediately came forward to push the swing. He applied a little super strength, just enough to leave you soaring high above the ground for a few seconds. From a distance, you could hear Martha Kent’s stern call of “Be Careful.”

He waited until you were on the ground again to answer.“About the way you and Damian look at each other. Like you’re hopelessly in love.”

Jon flew out range of your arms quickly, leveling off with the tall branches of a nearby peach tree. He was the spitting image of Superman floating above you in a grey-blue t-shirt, but his smile was all his mother’s. It guaranteed teasing. You were aware of how you looked at Damian. You know he never returned your gaze with the same dopey warmth. He looked at you with measured interest, like a conquest. The scales were majorly unbalanced and you wished Jon wouldn’t remind you of that.

“Come back down here so I can strangle you!”

“Climb the tree and jump. Let’s see if you can fly too!”

You’re mad enough to try, but the power of flight was not one you were beseeched with. It’s a sad fact that sours you further. The fight drained out of you in the gentle breeze that rustled through the wheat fields, sending a swirl of fresh country air your way, blossoming fruit and blooming flowers filled your nostrils. You slumped down into the soft, green grass, dropping backwards dramatically.

Jon landed with the crunch of branches nearby. He loomed over you with a smile identical to the one Jaime had worn when he teased you about Damian too. It was knowing and sad all in one.

“Why do always get like that when I talk about him?”

“Like what?” you spit snidely.

“Prickly. Like a porcupine.” The smile remained as he sank into the damp earth beside you. “You get all defensive and angry. If I didn’t know you so well, I’d have thought you hated him.”

“Maybe I do.”

He barked with laughter that pitches an octave higher than his voice.“Maybe you should just talk to him.”

“I wish people would stop telling me that.”

💫💫💫

Diana shook you awake out of your bed in the Kent’s guest room at the crack of dawn. You squealed at the sight of her comforting smile, preening as she gathered you up in her arms like you’re still a toddler.

“Come on my little dove, we have a mission.”

It was League business; so there was the expected quiet hush of whispers aboard the batplane as it glided through the air. You were fully suited up, tucked into a little alcove next to a miffed looking Jon. He kept drifting in and out of sleep, grumbling as his head lolled from side to side.

From what you’d managed to piece together, some nasty alien tech had fallen into the wrong hands. A reclusive double spy had leaked the information that a few major assassination attempts were set to go down in the following days.

“So much for a quiet summer.” You hummed.

Jon’s reply was a gurgling snore and his flopped against your shoulder clumsily. You shot him an irate glance. There was nothing you could do until he awoke again.

A hot flush passed over the back of your neck and clued you in on the eyes that were boring into you. You turned, half expecting to find Clark or Diana’s delighted smile and maybe a camera. Instead, you’re enthralled by evergreen irises, thick dark lashes and carnelian brown skin. At the angle you were at, you were going to get a crick in your neck. But it was worth it to be so openly transfixed on Damian because he looked equally enraptured by you. His mouth opened for a brief second, you caught a glimpse of his tongue curling across a word and then he stopped, surveying Jon’s sleeping form. He closed his mouth and left you in a stunned, tense silence.

It _stung_. Just as you predicted it would. Even just the barest hint of contact, even non physical and non verbal, left you veering into dark territory. The only time you’d ever really spoken to Robin was to yell orders and warnings at each in the heat of battle. Damian Wayne had engaged you in bland but polite conversation so few times that you could count them on one hand. Usually it went:

_“How are you?”_

_“Great. And you?”_

_“Good.”_

Maybe there would be some increments about the weather here or there, a mention of the Wayne Foundation Scholarship winner or a shared look over Jon’s shoulder when he was being particularly chipper. Still, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something unspoken lingered between you. Something electric that rubbed against the protons and neutrons in the air and created a charge that left your body reeling.

It hangs like a sword above your head through each bland interaction. Either he smiles a little too openly or your words die before they meet air and you’re both left looking at each other with expressions of mingled wonder and confusion. You could never read him right and you could never tell if that was a trait unique to him or if it was something he’d gained from his father.

You just wished you could get him out of your head. It would be nice to strike up an actual friendship instead of the game of cat and mouse you’d been playing. Except Damian wasn’t a cat, he was a level opponent on every field besides romantic conquest. There, you felt as though he dwarfed you. It was difficult to pick the tangled feelings you had for him apart, it seemed like the more you loosened the web, it tangled together even more.

“It was never going to be a quiet Summer with Jon.”

The words are faint, uttered so lowly that you’re almost sure you imagined them but at the mention of his name, the sleeping Superboy shot up and turned to his best friend with a grin.

“Hey, I can be quiet.”

“No,” Damian answers surely. “Not possible.”

“I can!” Jon was engaged, ready to draw out the squabbling. He leaned out of his chair, moving to terrorize Damian from an opposing seat.

“Can _not_.”

“I _can_.”

“Can you really?”

You tuned them out, mind wandering far away. You couldn’t help but wish that Jon had stayed asleep, you longed to finish the conversation with Damian. It was normal for once. Less intimidating.

Even as you thought it though, you considered that Jon’s interruption was also a blessing.

**July.**

“If you need to ask me something, just ask.”

You frowned. He’d never reprimanded you for looking before. Perhaps your intent had been too strongly placed. Being alone with him, truly alone was screwing with your head. The last time you’d spoken to him had been on the transport ship, a brief conversation that dawdled on the edges of your consciousness. the passing days had been spent in easy silence, a welcome change to your past interactions.

“It’s nothing.”

The rainforest was damp and mossy underfoot. Everything smelt of life; fragrant, colourful flowers, mud and animals. A waterfall was nearby, you could hear the roaring rush of it. The heat all around was almost stifling, sweat clung to your body like second skin.

“ _Really_?” he brandished his sword back and forth, clearing a path through a particularly heavy thicket of bush, and stepping back to let you through. “Your face says otherwise.”

Sunlight streamed in through a canopy of trees, vines and branches. A halo of it was casted around his head and as he stood before you with a sword tucked in at his side and a nonchalantly raised eyebrow, the breath was stolen from your lungs. How much did your trust yourself around him? There was no Jon to buffer the edges of awkwardness away. There was no one else to remind you that this moment in time was a reality and not a hazy fever dream.

“It’s nothing.” You repeated, striding past him. “I just don’t want to get lost out here.”

“Where’s your spirit of adventure?”

Narrowly avoiding the clutches of a snake pit, you took his offered hand, skeptically. “You say that like trudging through miles of jungle, with the grand potential of death lurking at every turn is fun for you.”

“It _is_.” He was smiling again, completely unarmed in your bubble of solitude. “For one, you’re actually talking to me.”

He was standing so close to you. A breath away, the chance of a kiss floating through the air like particles in a sunbeam. There was gold in his eyes, speckled around his irises. There was a scar on his upper lip too, you’d never noticed it before. You noticed now though, and he noticed you. Funny, how the moment devolved so quickly into both of you staring at each others mouths. Hunger and heat spurring you on. His hands still held onto yours, keeping you flush against him. You wanted to say it, you wanted to tell him how you felt. You wanted to feel the texture of that scar on your skin.

But it was too much, too soon and Donna’s voice rang through your head like an alarm, “ _Don’t date your teammates,_ ”. You cleared your throat sharply, spearing the moment in half. “We should keep going. We promised Dick we’d be back before dusk.”

“Right.” He backed off with a last, lingering glance at your lips. “Right. Of course.”

**August.**

Summer stickiness had been winding down, the air was lighter with the cool balm of autumnal winds snatching up the last few days of August greedily. Post-mission meetings were usually a drag, but with the last day of vacation looming, sticking through a droning lecture before dinner at the Kent farm didn’t seem so terrible. An easy celebration, as Diana had put it, to cap off a summer of hard work. A quaint, quiet evening was marked by a gentle pop playlist and star shaped fairy lights hung through trees at Kara’s insistence.

You’d fought alongside your friends for months; eating, sleeping and breathing the mission. With a clear objective, Damian had gracefully retreated back to your former pattern of lingering looks and secret smiles. If you weren’t so concentrated on the task at hand, you would have surely been driven crazy by him. Every stare, every touch since then felt heavier, deeper. More meaningful than the last.

Even the promise of seeing Damian made you feel like your body was on fire. _What was the protocol now?_ After that moment in the forest you’d both returned to the mission, as though there hadn’t been a cosmic shift in the universe. You hoped, wished, prayed that he could feel it too.

He didn’t hesitate when he arrived. He caught your eye the minute he trailed in behind Dick’s towering frame. You flushed, the heat of it twined down your neck and crawled all over your skin. It startled you to see him in plain clothes. He looked normal. Almost approachable.

“Ok.” Donna dropped onto the picnic table you were occupying, a soda in her hands. “Ok, why do you look so glum, little dove?”

“Remember when you told me that it was a bad idea to date a teammate?”

“I…” she rolled the soda can between her palms, collecting the perspiration in her fingers to flick at you. “I don’t remember saying that, no. _Oh my god_ , when did I say that?”

“After you broke up with Roy.”

“Oh,” Donna snorted, swigging her soda. “I didn’t actually mean that then. I was just torn up about Roy.”

“So, it’s not a bad idea?” You would hit her if you didn’t love her so much. All that time you’d been so hurt over meaningless words. But would that change anything? You still didn’t think Damian even felt the same way you did. There was no way you were more than just a flirtatious ally.

“Depends on who you’re dating. Who are you dating, by the way?”

You could see her older-sibling intrigue kicking in. You nudged your bare foot against hers.

“I’m _not_.”

“Then why do you look like a sad porcupine. Did you break up with someone?”

“ _What?_ No. Nevermind. I don’t want to think about it right now.” A drawn sigh escaped your body, against your will. Donna pulled you into her arms like she did when you were younger, wrapping you in a safe embrace. Reminding you that you were protected, no matter what. “I just, I really like this boy, D. and he doesn’t feel the same way and it hurts knowing that. It just hurts.”

“Do you really think Damian doesn’t feel the same? That he isn’t absolutely crazy about you?”

You were aghast. Horrified and stunned as you struggled in her grip. “You _knew_?”

She shrugged, “Damian told Dick about how you guys almost kissed last month. And Dick told me.”

_“Donna!”_

“He was really torn up about it. It’s older sibling code to talk about you guys behind your backs,” she didn’t bother to hide her amusement. “You should go talk to him.”

For once, you didn’t curl into a ball at the suggestion. You let yourself rise, full of intent, clawing the needless fear back down. You couldn’t help but wonder if this whole thing was based on hedonistic desire. If it wasn’t more than just subtext. But as Damian met your eyes under the expanse of endless, twinkling stars, your body froze on instinct. Before your mind could process it, he’d cross the grassy yard with long strides, stopping just in front of you. Donna, not subtle at all, ran off with a squeal.

He held out a hand to you. Long, scarred fingers closed over your own as he pressed your palm flat against his chest, just over his heart.

“I’ve been wondering for sometime now,” his voice tempered lowly, his heart beat bumping up under your fingers. “How should I approach you with this? But everytime I wanted to try you were otherwise engaged. It killed me for weeks after Reyes hugged you, I was sure you’d been dating him.”

“We’re just friends.”

“I know that now. But I was still jealous, you…distract me.”

“Oh,” was all you managed as you pressed your hands more firmly into the material of his hoodie. The words swirled around in your brain, making it difficult to compute them. “Is that a bad thing?”

You could hear the smile in his voice, “No. Quite the opposite.”

“I’m sorry for before.”

“It’s ok, Dick told me what Donna said.”

Taking a chance to flick your eyes up, to watch his dazzling smile grow wider from up close, your were absolutely stunned by the beauty of him. The way his lips lifted at the corners, dimples and white teeth. The way it reached his eyes turning muted green into sparkling, glittery emerald made your own heart seize in your chest. That smile was just for you. All for you. It made your lungs want to give out.

“You stare a lot.”

“So do you,” the smile melted into a smirk as he grabbed you by your arms, swinging you both around in a dizzying circle. His laughter mingled into your own, and you were startled by the musical lilt of it. “I like it when you do. I like looking at you.”

Breathlessly, a little giddily, he whispered as you came to a halt, a confession. “I think I could spend the rest of my life looking at you.”

Your breath hitched dangerously. The world began to tilt as your bare feet slipped from his sneakers. You clutched at his shirt and he dug his fingers into your waist to keep you from falling. It was almost too much, and yet he pressed on, his breath fanning across your face.

“I’ve never seen a masterpiece quite like you Y/N. I can spend hours trying to recreate one. I can buy art galleries in New York and Milan and Paris and none of them, not one will ever house a piece that makes me feel the way you do.”

Guilt threatened to flush the warmth of his words away and you held onto them valiantly. You were going to keep them, store them in safe place for whenever the world threatened to knock you down. Shakily, you whispered to him, “What if this doesn’t work out?”

“But what if it does?”

He was defiant. You’d always liked that about him and this time you were the one dazzling him with a smile. All the days, the meetings of eyes across rooms and the tender kindling of something great bloomed between you. It didn’t matter if anyone else thought you were right for each other, or if love happened to be a fickle being; Damian was all you had longed for, for so long that everything else around you simply melted away.


	21. 🌹❤BatFamily x Reader Valentine’s Day Blurbs❤🌹

**🌹Bruce:**

“Are you tired yet? Ready to leave?”

His hands— one cradling your waist, the other intertwined with your own— are the only things keeping you grounded to the moment. You twirl through bits of confetti and dozens upon dozens of heart shaped balloons, swirling up around your feet and filling your sight and painting the memory red.

The dance floor has long emptied, but he keeps twirling you around in quick circles, spinning you out and pulling you back in, just to hear you laugh.

His smile is like pure starlight; unfiltered and wholesome because it’s just for you. You understand though, the true Valentine’s day gift isn’t the fancy outfit he’d given you sheepishly or the forward invite to a lavish gala. The true gift is this version of him, one that he doesn’t let past his many guarded walls anymore, and for that you are grateful.

“Not yet. I want to hold onto this a little more.”

**🌹Dick:**

“I had a lot of fun today.”

He hums into your skin, digging his fingers further into your waist. If you’re still coherent, he isn’t doing a good enough job.

“I mean how long did you plan all this? It must have taken months to get the reservations.”

His mouth stills at your hips at the teasing lilt in your tone. His breath is hot and irreverent against your skin and for the first time since he’s gotten his hands on your for the evening, your breath hitches.

“You know, don’t you?”

He keeps going, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses down your stomach. You’re breathless and raspy when you answer, “….Yes.”

“Tim told you?”

“Damian….actually.”

He stops then, and you whine at the loss of him. “I’m sorry. Usually…”

Usually, he’s either spending the day on a rooftop or spaceship or grovelling because he’d forgotten it completely. He’s never had to plan a Valentine’s day before. So when Alfred offered him an itinerary of your favourite things— a whole day trip planned and thought out carefully— he accepted because at the time, he’d just returned from patrol and was too tired to convince himself otherwise.

“Usually, saving the world comes first. I get it. I still liked that we got to spend the day together, and that Alfred sees me as important enough to remember what I like.”

“I can make it up to you,” he says earnestly.

“I think you’re already doing that.”

**🌹Jason:**

The ocean— large and looming— was stretched out along the horizon. Waves of deep, dark blue tumbled tumultuously onto the shore. Dawn was approaching carefully, in her stead the sky took on a misty grey, still and peaceful compared to roar of the sea below.

Everytime the wind picked up, the sand rose in swirls getting caught on your clothes, into the open windows of range rover Jason had “borrowed” from Bruce. You hid your face in the crook of Jason’s neck to avoid getting it in your eyes.

It had been a split second decision to drive to the beach, one fueled by sleep deprivation and several sentiments along the lines of _“oh shit how could we forget Valentines day?”_ But it was seemingly worth it.

The hood of the car was still warm to touch under your bodies, it aided against the nipping cold and secured the image of being in your own bubble for you. Just Jason’s arms around you and the rhythm of the sea; it wasn’t glamorous but you never needed it to be. You had each other and that was good enough.

**🌹Tim:**

The night’s humid, a melody of chirping crickets and a trickling creek serenades you as you trek behind him. You clasp his hand tightly against the grassy terrain, following him deeper into the line of trees.

“Can I ask where we’re going?” you ask, willing away the flutter of excitement in your stomach.

“No. It’s a surprise.”

“But I wanna know.”

“Then you gotta wait pretty bird.”

The tree’s clear and meadow of wild flowers appears, dotted by tealights. A blanket sits in the center of the set up, anchored by a wicker basket. The flutter melts into a gentle beat of warm happiness, pooling inside you like sunshine as his mouth lifts at the corners.

“I hear midnight picnics are considered romantic enough for Valentine’s d- _mph_.”

He pulls you flush against him, deepening the kiss you laid on him. You put all your gratefulness into it, all the words that you can’t say.

**🌹Damian:**

“What is this?”

His eyebrows raise in disbelief, and he shakes his head, like he can’t comprehend how he puts up with you. “A flower, _genius_.”

“I know that nimrod.” You slam your locker shut behind you, moving to lean against it and regard him fully. “What does it mean?”

The school day is over, so the halls are empty and void of students, yet when he answers, you don’t hear him.

“What?”

He murmurs the words again looking directly at the floor.

“I’m tired, can you just speak up?”

“It’s for Valentine’s day alright? Happy Valentine’s Day, you brat” He throws up his hands exasperatedly, finally meeting your gaze. He freezes when you reach for him, slipping your fingers into his own.

“Thank you, Dames.”

**🌹Duke:**

He had planned it all out carefully under Alfred’s guiding hand— dinner in one the Manor’s unused sitting rooms and then a movie set up in a pillow fort he’d coerced Damian into building with him.

It’s a simple plan and he’s confident in it. In himself. Until he’s at the door taking your coat and his heart stutters to a halt in his chest; because it isn’t fair for one human being to just….look _so beautiful_.

He ends up fumbling through dinner; voice cracking, plate clattering kind of fumbling. It’s super embarrassing, but you just smile a little warmer, touch him a little more. By the time you’re both in the fort, he’s convinced himself that he blew it. To preserve an air of chivalry Bruce would demand, he turns to apologize.

But you lean in instead, brushing your nose against his and whispering, just softly enough for him to hear. “This was very sweet. You’re very sweet. Can I kiss you?”

**🌹Cass:**

She absolutely does not complain when Bruce assigns her patrol on Valentine’s. (No matter what Stephanie says, she doesn’t.)

You take the news in stride though, because you understand her better than most and you know that keeping Gotham safe would always be a top tier priority. Because you’re also an absolute little angel, you show up just before she has to leave with two gift bags in hand.

“I figured I should give you this now,” you greet her with a smile.

The first bag opens up to reveal all her favourite snacks; salted potato chips, a small tub of nutella, another one of peanut butter and some pickles. It’s nice that you can encourage her strange food habits and she’s very grateful for that. It gives her a better grip on normalcy.

The second bag is tiny, barely bigger than her palm and when she opens it, the kite paper clears away to a shimmering gold pendant on a thin chain.

“I was going to get a bat,” you admit sheepishly, “But I thought you might like the ballerina better.”

“I love you,” is all she can say as she tugs you into a hug.

**🌹Barbara:**

“Ok so, rom-com or horror?”

No matter what she chooses, she’ll fall asleep twenty minutes in, you know this well enough by now. But it’s the ritual of spending Valentine’s with her— take out and shitty movies, cuddling on her couch in pajamas, making out a little just before passing out from sheer exhaustion— that matters the most to you.

She’s putting aside Oracle for a night to just be Babs for you. It’s how you know you’re important. How you know behind her sarcasm and wit and brilliance that she has a place in her heart for you. It’s nice. Actually, you feel like it’s a bit undeserving. Because she’s her and you’re you but still you’re not going to run away from a good thing.

“You’re only suggesting horror because it’s Valentine’s day so rom-com.”

“ _Babs!_ ”

She laughs at your protest, a thrilling musical sound that has you warming from your head to your toes. You choose the film, slide down next to her with no intention of watching it.

“You’re staring now,” she whispers, brushing her nose against your own.

You confess, boldly holding her gaze. “You’re really pretty.”

“You just wanna get laid.”

**🌹Stephanie:**

“ _Of course_ ,” she grits, pulling out another handful of tissues from the box. “Of course I’m sick on Valentine’s day.”

She’s red nosed and stuffy. Her mouth is set a pout that shouldn’t be as cute as it is and it takes everything you have not to kiss it away.

“You’re the one that wanted to play rooftop tag in the rain, Steph.”

She sniffles, “Damian and Tim were there too.”

“And neither of them are fighting off a cold right now.”

“The universe hates me. We should be going out right now, spending all of Bruceman’s money. I should be wooing you out of _your_ -” she stops to cough roughly into her fist. “Out of your pants.”

“Hey,” you catch her by her chin. “We don’t need a special occasion for that. Feel free to woo me anytime of the year.”

She laughs and you can’t help but wonder how even under the weight of a cold she could still manage to steal the air out of your lungs. “I love you, Steph. Did you know that?”


	22. Sincerity is Scary ✨ {Tim Drake x Reader.}

**“You are here, concealing within you another self, so real it hurts.”**

**_\- Mieczyslaw Jastrun, tr. by Czeslaw Milosz, from “A Woman Who Suddenly Entered The Room,”_ **

“You’re late.”

It’s more of an observation than an accusation, but his smile wavers nevertheless. His hair’s damp from the drizzle, jacket rain spattered and his ‘Han Shot First’ t-shirt sticks to his skin as he walks. A flush creeps into his cheeks as his nose wrinkles in discomfort.

Tim knows he’s late. He was supposed to meet you in front of the Monarch Theatre twenty minutes ago, but he’d gotten sidetracked a few streets back by a minor robbery. He was only allowed to leave the crime scene after the arrival of a very annoyed Robin and by the time he’d found a place to get changed out of the Red Robin suit, you had already texted him twice, concerned but not upset.

“I’m sorry,” he concedes “I…uh…overslept?”

At this point in your relationship, you’ve grown used to his inability to come up with valid excuses. From his continuous bouts of mysterious illnesses to wiggling his way out of plans by asking Tam to cancel with you instead; you never once outrightly questioned him. He constantly felt guilty about it, but like most things, he compartmentalized the emotions and choose to keep them under the surface rather than address them fully. Much like the way he purposefully held you at an arm’s length through and through, desperately afraid of rejection rather than admitting his true feelings for you.

With a laugh and an eye-roll, you fall into step with him, jovially chatting on the way to the concession stand. Buttered popcorn and sticky candy, a new Star Wars movie and a full evening of your company, a combined concept that set his heart aflutter in his chest.

There were rare, precious moments where he could really be himself. Not a hero, not a billionaire brat; just Tim, just a boy. And for a while now, he’d come to the realization that those moments were the best when they were with you.

“I implore you,” you murmur as he snags the bucket of popcorn out of your lap. “To keep your complaints for after the movie.”

“If you really expect me to do that, you’re going to have to get me more popcorn.”

“Okay, nerd. Quickly before it starts, do you really want more popcorn?”

The thrum in his chest stills when his defences soften. His eyebrows draw up as he asks, “You’d go get some?”

“Yeah, if you want it.”

“No, I’m joking. I’ll shut up as long as you let me get it out of my system afterwards.”

“Deal,” you promise, patting his arm.

True to himself, Tim finds flaws in almost every scene of the film. Each time you clock them, your turn to him with a proud little smirk that drives him restless. He’s itching to move as the credits roll, fully prepared to rant at large.

“They didn’t even bother to get the characterization right, I mean that’s just an insult to the original films.”

“I know you think I’m joking every time I say this, but I truly believe that you should just by the rights and re-make them.”

“Honestly,” he admits as he holds open the door to the bordering gelato shop for you. “I think about doing that all the time. Bruce would probably kill me though.”

Twinkling lights line the walls, vintage posters of old-time films hang about here and there. For a weeknight, the shop is fittingly quiet. Something he’s quite grateful for as he slides into a seat across from you, swapping out your cup of almond butter and honey for his belgian chocolate.

There’s a soft lull in the conversation, one that’s comfortable and familiar enough that he allows himself to bask in it. He pretends to be heavily invested in his frozen treat when all he’s really doing is stealing glances at you between bites. He wonders, only for a second, what it would be like to lay himself bare to you. To come out with the words and tell you who he truly is. Wonders if that’s the stupidest thing he could ever do when he couldn’t even ask you out on a proper date because he was so scared of you not feeling the same.

He was aware that all he was truly accomplishing by carving time out of his schedule to hang out with you was digging himself into a deeper hole. A void really, of self-doubt and insecurity that would inevitably need to be done away with; compartmentalized.

“Tim.” Your voice is soft and near-tender as it draws him back out of his head. He slinks back into reality and registers a far-away look on your face, your eyes are trained on the rooftops of the buildings across the street. They’re shadowed and silhouetted by the waning crescent of the moon. “Do you think…do you think Batman lives a normal life outside of saving people? Like do you think he goes to the movies and buys popcorn and just sits?”

_No, he doesn’t go to the movies because he has a home theatre built into his house and he doesn’t eat popcorn, because he’s weird._

“I’d like to think so. Why?” He catches himself leaning forward, fingers brushing across your knuckles as he reaches for your hand. He makes to pull back, but you push into his touch, circling your own fingers around his wrist.

“I don’t know. The thought just crossed my mind. Maybe I just like the idea of a hero being a regular guy, you know?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “I know what you mean.”

“Hey, is he still your favourite? Out of all the bats?”

He lets out a breathy giggle, unable to help himself with just how amusing that question really is. At your quizzical look, he raises his hands up apologetically, “ _Sorry._ Sorry, you just said that like you couldn’t believe that Batman was my favourite.”

“Well he isn’t mine,” you say, swapping back the cups.

“Oh, really?” He reaches across the table and obnoxiously, sticks his spoon back into your own, snickering when you slap his hand away. “Who’s your favourite then? The Red Hood? You do have that thing for anti-heroes.”

“Thinking Hayden Christensen is cute is not a thing for anti-heroes,” you corrected. “And no, I like Red Robin a lot. He’s cute.”

He chokes on a particularly large bite of gelato, the lump that slides down into his throat leave his stomach cold. “You do?” he gasps between coughs. “Uh… _he is_?”

You drop your head into your arms, a muffled protest for him to stop laughing slips out of your mouth as you shy away. He’s glad you aren’t looking at him, as he grows flustered, feeling himself go red from his nose to the tips of his ears.

“You can’t make fun of me. I don’t make fun of any of your crushes.”

“You have a crush on Red Robin?”

“ _Tim!_ ” You groaned, mistaking his surprise for mockery. “Forget I said anything.”

It’s possibly the stupidest situation the universe has ever placed him in. How funny, that just a moment before he was contemplating the unlikely event of him ever admitting to you who he really was and then here you are, confessing to a crush on the other version of him, the one that you didn’t know. The feelings stir within and the conflict between all the versions of him— Red Robin and Tim Drake and just Tim— threatens to overflow onto the table. He does the thing he knows how to do best; pushes them away and flings his mind into something else with reckless abandon.

With newfound, determined confidence, he takes the hand that you have enclosed around one of his wrists into the cold fingers of his other hand. When you look up at him, face shifting from bewilderment to a stunned wonder to something that’s so gentle he wants to remember it forever, he finally plucks up enough courage to ask what he should have so long ago.

“Do you want to go on a date with me?”

Eventually, he’ll figure it out— how to tell you who really is— for now, he can be happy to just give another part of himself to you.

“I would love to.”


	23. A Little Clumsy ✨ {Jason Todd x Reader}

He should have noticed you sooner. He should have seen you the minute he entered the lecture hall, but he didn’t. He was too busy being pissed— at himself for sleeping through his alarm on the first day ( _because of course he had to stay up to patrol_ ), at Damian for picking a fight with him over breakfast which put a subtly disappointed frown on Alfred’s face— at the whole freaking universe for deciding that he couldn’t have a normal day in his life no matter how hard he tried. And he’s pissed he didn’t notice you until he’s floundering for a pen in the middle of class and he turns to find you offering one. You’re curled into the seat at his left, holding out a ballpoint to him, wearing an amused little smirk that makes his lungs give out just a smidge. He can’t even get a thanks out of his mouth, because you are so horribly stunning and he has to stupidly wonder if he’d finally died again, making it to heaven this time.

He comes prepared for the next class he has with you, though. It’s an evening lecture on Wednesday so he has time to irritate Damian into a nuclear state, nudge Alfred enough to get a batch of sugar cookies made, and pick out an outfit that makes him look good (but not like he’s trying too hard). You’re there already when he gets to the hall early, and this time your smile is a tiny bit sarcastic when he slides in next to you.

“I hope you have your shit together today, rich boy.”

That takes him back for a second. His return to Gotham high society was a quiet affair. Bruce made a short and to the point announcement to the press, declined all comments and reinstated his name back to Wayne Enterprises board and all other relating assets. That was it, legally of course. In reality, moulding himself into the family again was going to be tumultuous either way, and he was so caught up in the inner circle issues surrounding his return from the dead, he’d almost forgotten he had a public image.

He brightened, “I do.”

When he holds out a Ziploc bag of icing covered sugar cookies to you, he’s a little too happy to watch you grapple for words. But this is all it takes to strike up a solid friendship, as simple as it would have been in kindergarten.

He likes your easy companionship. He likes you despite the fact that you always managed to complete your assignments and extra credit essays way before they were due. Or how you always got to class before him and claimed his preferred seat like a prize. He didn’t really plan on it, falling in love with you. It just sort of happened— one minute he was happily mocking the pretentious nature of James Joyce’s writing with you, the next he was buzzing in his own skin, completely hyper-aware of how close you were sitting next to him, torn between wanting to pull you closer in selfishness and push you away in self-preservation.

Every minute he spent with you after that was self-inflicted torture. Because there was no way you shared in his feelings. And even as he berated himself for it, he devoured each moment with you greedily. No matter how far he sunk, he just couldn’t bring himself to admit his true feelings to you.

“I’m not ashamed of it,” you grinned at him, a hopeful glint of mischief in your eyes “I’ll always put the Red Hood on top.”

“Say that again. But say it slowly.”

The heat had already caught along your skin, “You know what I meant _asshole_. He’s my favourite. He does the things Batman can’t and I heard he sometimes quotes Shakespeare with Black Bat.”

The grounds of Gotham University had been soothed into a state of repose as the bright, heavy promise of summer began to seep in. He’d corralled a tiny corner outside of the library for both of you; a weather-worn stone bench that sat in front of a tall oak tree. It was too uncomfortable to sit next to you on the bench though; a stray bullet had clipped him in the thigh over the weekend and it still smarted when he sat down. He’d taken to lying on the grass in front the bench, propped on his side so he could look at you.

“He may be your soulmate. Would you still love him if he was ugly under the mask?” he quipped, grabbing you by the ankle to halt the kick you aimed at him.

Jason didn’t mean to tease, you’d been his first real friend that didn’t know about the whole hero world, an ordinary civilian who saw the whole thing in a cloud of magic and wonder. A little part of him wanted to indulge your attraction to the Red Hood because it was kind of hilarious, and because it made his insides twist up.

“Looks don’t matter to me, Jason. I keep you around don’t I?” you hummed distractedly as your phone lit up with the notification.

“You keep me around for my notes.” He lets his hand drop from your skin as a shadowed expression crosses your face. “What’s wrong?”

“Look,” you hold the phone out to him, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth as you wait for him to read the conversation. “We were supposed to go to a party tonight but my friends all have dates now.”

“We could hang out.” His mouth runs a little faster than his thoughts can. This is a moment he’d planned out in his head differently, a slow, casual build that would have been earned upon its romantic outcome. Instead, he blurts out the words in a rushed breath, “I’m skipping out on that gallery opening tonight. Maybe we could go catch a movie, get something to eat?”

A sunny smile grows across your face and the panic inside his stomach slides back into submission. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

He realizes, as he pulls up in front of your apartment, that he never actually specified if this was a date or not. Which, retrospectively was incredibly stupid. He wants it to be a date, but he also wants you to think its a date too.

And he’s so nervous. He keeps fidgeting with the sleeves of his jacket as he regards your apartment building, unsure if he should go up and meet your roommates and all that. Because if it is a date, he should be as chivalrous as Alfred has taught him to be.

You save him the trouble, sliding out the door and bounding down the cobbled steps with a sparkly smile. It grows when you take in the car he’s leaning against.

“Do all billionaires just own a host of Jaguars to pick out from?”

“I _desperately_ await the day when you outgrow the fact that my dad’s Bruce Wayne.”

“Why,” you grin as he opens the passenger door for you. “Does it bother you?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll stop when it doesn’t.”

You keep up a steady stream of conversation while he drives. It’s all too easy to grow comfortable around you and for a minute the hulking question of ‘ _what exactly are we doing?_ ’ floats away. As long as he doesn’t look at you for too long (because it’s clear you’ve made an effort, you look _nice_ ,) or let himself overthink, he should be fine.

Dinner is at a little italian place that he knows you like. You get the special, he gets your usual and then you both fill the silence between clattering cutlery and lively conversation of the room with inside jokes and gossip. Truly, it’s not much different than spending time with you on any regular day. Sure, his eyes get caught on your mouth several times and he has to resist the urge to slide his hand across yours on the table but other than that, it’s a relatively platonic affair. And while it sticks to his insides like thorns, he still can’t say it isn’t enjoyable.

He lets you pick the movie— it’s some sci-fi thing that Tim’s been talking about for months— while he gets popcorn and candy. At first, he’d convinced himself that sitting next to you in the dark theatre would have been easy, but at the moment he can’t get his mind to shut up and focus on the film. You’re enraptured and oblivious while he frets and fidgets; tucking his hands under his legs, shifting around in his chair to avoid brushing your shoulder. He’s positively relieved when it’s over.

“You’re kinda quiet right now,” you note. “Did you not like the movie? Or are you tired of me already?”

Actually, he’s distracted. It’s a bit of a walk back to the car and he’d been spending it drifting slowly on his feet, staring at you. The world grows hazy, dimmed street lamps and shop windows cast an aura over you. It’s all warm and inviting and after a very date-like evening, he can’t help but think about kissing you.

“Jay?” you continue when he doesn’t answer.

“No, no I liked it.” He cuts across the pavement between two buildings, quickening his pace just a little to fall in step behind you. “I’m just a little tired, that’s all.”

You snort, whipping around to laugh at him. “You’re such an old man.”

“Hey, you should have more respect for your elders.”

He expects a wittingly dry response, something to keep the banter flowing but it doesn’t come. You’ve stopped dead in your tracks as a man materializes seemingly out of the shadows, blocking your path. Jason had been so caught up with you—with the normalcy of it all—that he hadn’t noticed him sooner. Hadn’t noticed until there’s a gun in front of you, and all at once, the feeling of floating on clouds of happiness leaves him crashing back to earth with the reminder that Gotham is not a nice city, and she probably never intends to be one.

The gun gleams like a polished diamond under the moonlight that filtered into the alleyway. It’s unmistakable. He had stopped being scared of guns a long time ago yet the sight of a barrel pressed in between your eyebrows made his stomach turn in anguish. All he can think is _ohgodohgodohgod_ because there was an imminent promise of death right in front of you.

He’s in civies, armed with only a knife in his bootstrap. There were two of them, he noted. The one standing in front of you was all bravado, the other slinked in the shadow of a dumpster to Jason’s left. He could hear his boots squelching against the damp streets. Jason was about to bargain, distract the guy while he planned out exactly how he was going to take down him and his accomplice. He had to be efficient enough so you wouldn’t be harmed.

You surprise him though, you’d grown still while surveying the masked man in front of you. You lean back, rigid against him and exhaled a long breath through your teeth. “Just take what you want; wallets, phones, watches, and go. We don’t want any trouble.”

“You’re that Wayne kid aren’t ya? The one that came back from the dead. Wonder how much money ya father would pay to have you and your lil date here returned to him alive again?”

He expects you to grit your teeth, complain that you were not his date and this idiot should get his story straight. But you don’t, you lean into him in a way that was almost, for lack of better word, _protective._ How funny, you didn’t think twice about risking your life for him.

He maps a move in his head, using everything he’d been taught; calculating the angles, the shifts in the thug’s body language, the proximity of the gun to you, how likely it was the accomplice was armed. He weighs it all out and kept his mouth running, promises of large sums of money and pleading for his life like a sad little rich boy. When he’s ready, he slips his fingers up the back of your jacket, hoping to secure you with an arm around your waist before he began to move. You tense once more, and Jason could feel your body trembling ever so slight. God, how he wanted to beat this idiot senseless.

The gun was cocked again, safety shifting as the thug considered his options with both of you. Jason set his feet apart, taking on a subtle fighting stance. The criminal’s gaze flicked between your face and then Jason’s, as though he was trying to read your thoughts. He shifts as he spies something in the distance, and then he grows slack-jawed, eyes widening in fear. For a second, Jason almost believes it’s because of him and then he hears the sound of a loose body hitting concrete.

“Nightwing!” the thug with the gun yells, trying to hide his weapon behind his back as his partner falls.

Jason couldn’t honestly decide who he wanted to hit more in this situation.

“Di-Nightwing,” he greets as Dick swings into view from behind, all smiles as he notices Jason keeping you close.

“It’s alright guys,” he reassures, taking advantage of the wannabe kidnapper’s momentary shock and knocking him down with a swift blow to the skull. “Hope that didn’t spoil your…uh…date. You ok?”

Dick— despite the mask— is wearing a smile Jason knew met his eyes with genuine happiness. It was that stupid big brother smile he wore whenever he was proud of one of them; it was mostly saved for Damian and Cass.

“We’re fi- _Oof_.”

You come out of your shock in a sudden burst, cutting off Jason’s words by turning into his arms and throwing your hands around his neck, clutching him to you like you couldn’t believe he was real. Over your head, Dick mouths the word _‘nice’_ while giving Jason an enthusiastic thumbs up. Jason flips him the bird in response. When you let go, he has to do his best to not look disappointed.

“Thank you, Nightwing.” Jason could hear the raw earnesty in your voice. And it saddens him that he wasn’t able to protect you. If he hadn’t hesitated because he was too scared to show you who he really was, he’d have saved you from the bout of paranoia you’d experience from this point on. He was almost grateful for Dick’s intervening.

“Oh, it’s not a problem. Really _I-_ ” and then you were hugging Dick, who looked stunned for a mere second, only to recover and fix Jason with a wide grin. The gratefulness immediately went away. “Let me escort you both home.”

**

“How old do you think Nightwing is?”

He’s sitting on the cool wooden floors of your tiny apartment, losing an aggressive game of tug of war with the tiny brown border terrier you’d adopted. You haven’t named him yet, and it delights Jason’s cynical soul that you regard the furry little devil with a spritely _“Puppy!”_ every time you beckon him to you.

“Why?” he says, hissing as the puppy nips at his thumb. “Is he your new soulmate?”

He doesn’t bother to temper the bitterness in his tone, and he hopes that you think it’s because of the dog and not that fact that he is— without a shred of doubt— incredibly jealous. Nightwing has been the topic of discussion for the past two days. He knows this because, since nearly watching you meet death, he hasn’t been able to drag himself away from you. Like a true Gothamite, you aren’t shaken by anything that has or had almost happened. The city has tried to kill all of its citizens, if one willingly lives there, it’s with the knowledge that death and blood are always around the corner. Instead, you’ve developed a newfound, dare he say it, _crush_ on Nightwing. It was a little like the way kids became hyper-fixated on Batman and Robin after seeing them up close. Starstruck and bewildered and utterly attached

He could understand where your mind was at, truly. But that didn’t deflect from the fact that it killed him a little to listen to you chatter on about Dick (who was still laughing at him) for hours on end.

“He might be,” you say, crouching down onto the floor next to him and running a gentle hand across Puppy’s fur. “What’s up with you?”

“What do you mean?”

You’ve leaned into his space, watchful eyes raking over his face in search of something. It’s unnerving, the way you can know so little about him and still know _him_ for who he is. Sometimes he has to wonder if you do actually know about his vigilante activities and just choose to act oblivious.

“I mean, you sound off. Is it because of what happened? C’mon Jay, you know better than me how Gotham can be.”

“Sure but…”

“But?”

“Seventy-two hours ago, you had a gun to your head and now you’re sitting here playing with your dog and planning on ways to court Nightwing.”

You scoff, raising a hand to your chest in mock offence. “First of all, I’m _not_ planning to do _anything_ with Nightwing. Secondly, _court._ Really? And thirdly, that’s life. It could be worse, I could be dead or _worse_ , a fan of Dan Brown.”

“Shut up, I only said I liked _one_ of his books. Would you just let me _live_?”

The painful sting in his chest eases as you grin up at him. He wills away the gigantic relief and ego boost that comes from your words and focuses on being in the moment. He’s still staring at you when the tiny dog yips happily and goes sprinting in the other direction. You give a forlorn sigh as you watch it’s tail wagging around the corner and drop your head onto his shoulder.

The familiar smell of your shampoo tickles his nose. You’re soft and warm and flush against him and his brain goes offline for a solid minute when you place a palm over his.

“Hey, Jay?”

He clears his throat, “Yeah?”

“Can I say something stupid?”

A part of him— the part that throws paper at you in class, the part that takes half of your lunch and steals your coffee, the part that uses meanness as affection with everyone that he’s close to — desperately wants to say, _“As opposed to everything else you’ve said?”_ but all the other parts of him are on fire, because you keep sliding your fingers down his palm and over his wrist and he’s buzzing at this small gesture of affection.

“Yeah.”

“I _am_ scared, I mean I think everyone that lives here is scared on some level. But I really thought for a second that something really bad would have happened to us that night.”

Nothing would have happened at all if he’d just been paying attention.

“Me too,” he admits. “But that’s not stupid.”

You pull away from him and cold disappointment sinks in his stomach. “That’s not the stupid thing. I kind of…I like you, Jason. I know, i _t’s weird_ , we’re friends and all. But you took me out on a date, at least I thought it was a date, and now you’re here when you could be doing literally anything else. And I’d understand if you feel strange and want nothing to do with me but I like you _so much_ , Jason. I-”

“Hey. Shut up.” He takes your chin into his hands, smiles unabashedly at your confused expression. “I forgot how much you can blabber when you’re nervous.”

“Don’t.” you squirm. “Don’t make fun.”

“I’m not. It was supposed to be a date because I’ve liked you since the first moment I saw you. I like you a little more every day. I… _shit_. I thought you didn’t feel the same for so long and…can I…is it ok if…”

Now he’s the one babbling aimlessly. You see it though, the words he wants to say. You see him, his soul, his heart and when you brush your lips against his in the barest hint of a kiss, the words ‘I love you’ flash dangerously behind his eyelids. He should have noticed you sooner, but that wouldn’t stop him from giving you time to ease into his love.


End file.
